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.xV 






MASTERPIECES 



OF 



ENGLISH LITERATURE 



TYPICAL SELECTIONS OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN 

AUTHORSHIP, FROM SHAKESPEARE 

TO THE PRESENT TIME 

TOGETHER WITH 

DEFINITIONS, NOTES, ANALYSES, AND GLOSSARY 

AS AN AID TO 

SYSTEMATIC LITERARY STUDY 



FOR USE IN 

HIGH AND NORMAL SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES 
SEMINARIES, &-c. 



iy' 



,n'o 



By WILLIAM SWINTON 

AUTHOR OF * \ 

'harpeu's language series" and gold medallist 
pakis exposition 187s 



WITH PORTRAITS 



X)-)^ J:-^ 



NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 

1880 

c7r» 







Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 

Harper & Brothers, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



PREFACE. 



In the prescribed curricula of most high-schools, Eng- 
lish literature and rhetoric find an important place. Yet, 
perhaps, no subjects are less satisfactorily taught. The 
study of English literature is, for the most part, confined 
to a cram on the personal biography of authors ; at the 
best, it is a reading about literature rather than a reading 
in literature. ' The study of rhetoric is, for the most part, 
confined to the learning of abstract definitions and princi- 
ples. This is an acquisition certainly not to be under- 
valued ; for there is only a half-truth in Butler's famous 
aphorism, that 

"All a rhetorician's rules 
Teach nothing but to name his tools." 

Yet assuredly it is a barren knowledge, that of the " rhet- 
orician's rules," unless these are seen and felt as they find 
spontaneous embodiment in the great creations of the 
masters of literary art. 

This volume of " Masterpieces " is designed to occupy 
a place at the meeting-point of literature and rhetoric — 
to restore the twain to their natural and fruitful relation- 
ship. On the side of literature it is intended as the ac- 

A 



iV PREFACE. 

companiment of any class-book on that subject, furnishing 
a body of texts to be carefully read in connection with the 
biographical and critical study of particular authors, as 
pursued in the class-book. On the side of rhetoric it 
supplies a working outfit of definitions and principles, 
thus teaching the pupil to "name his tools;" and, fur- 
ther and more important, it applies the canons of the 
literary art to the analysis of the texts here presented. 
To this study I have given the name " Literary Analysis," 
as a conveniently elastic designation under which may be 
brought a great variety of exercises, grammatical and 
rhetorical, logical and etymological. The Literary Analy- 
sis is a new feature (at least I am unacquainted with any 
class-book of selections in which the kind of work here 
developed is given) ; and it is one from which most valu- 
able results are anticipated. For surely such studies as 
are called for in the "Masterpieces" cannot fail to bring 
the pupil into close and friendly contact with those 
mighty minds whose " volumes paramount " constitute 
the literature of our language : so that he will no longer 
be reading merely about the masters, but reading the mas- 
ters themselves — ascending with them into the "heaven 
of their invention," and feeding his soul on the divine 
bread of their high imaginings. 

The choice of authors to be represented by typical se- 
lections in the " Masterpieces " has been no easy task, for 
in the splendid galaxy of our English and American lit- 
erature are unnumbered stars. 

" They are all fires, and every one doth shine." 
In the embarrassment of riches, this principle of selection 



PREFACE. V 

was laid down : that the authors chosen should not only 
be of the first rank, but that as far as possible they should 
represent epochs of literature, marked phases of style, dis- 
tinctive contributions to literary method. Under the 
guidance of this rule forty masters have been here brought 
together. They all belong to the dii niajores, and sit se- 
renely, each in his chair, on the topmost peaks of Olym- 
pus. The first name is that of Shakespeare ; the last that 
of Huxley. It is a significant conjuncture ; for in passing 
from the former to the latter, and saluting, as we go, the 
mighty shades of Milton, Dryden, Pope, Johnson, Burke, 
Burns, Scott, Macaulay, and their earlier and later peers, 
we complete that great cycle of evolution which connects 
the romanticism of the sixteenth century with the scien- 
tism of the nineteenth. 

If the choice of authors was difficult, that of pieces to 
represent them was scarcely less so. Of the selections 
finally decided on, after much deliberation, this much, at 
least, may be said : that each has a claim founded on some 
peculiar power, pathos, beauty, or grandeur ; that each is 
" a gem of purest ray serene." It should also be added that 
care has been taken that, as far as possible, each selection 
should be a complete piece. Thus, of Milton, the two 
poems L Allegro and II Pcnscroso are given entire; Bacon 
is represented by two complete essays ; Addison's four 
best Sir Roger de Coverley papers are reproduced in full ; 
Pope moralizes the whole of his First Epistle of the Essay 
on Man ; Gray the whole of the Elegy ; and Goldsmith the 
whole of the Deserted Village ; and so on. And even in 
the case of authors who must necessarily be represented 



vi PREFACE. 

by extracts, this at least has been sought : that each piece 
should have a certain unity, should show a beginning, mid- 
dle, and end ; for unless a piece fill this requirement it is 
valueless as a study in literary art. 

The attention of teachers is called to the fact that each 
author is introduced by an appropriate " Characterization " 
by a distinguished critic. Thus we have the merits of 
Shakespeare and Pope set forth by Dr. Johnson ; of Bun- 
yan and Byron by Taine ; of Addison and Johnson by 
Macaulay ; of Goldsmith and Irving by Thackeray; of 
Thackeray by Dickens ; of Lamb by De Quincey ; of 
Burns by Carlyle ; of Carlyle and Wordsworth by Lowell ; 
of Bryant by Curtis ; of Holmes by Whittier. These fine 
appreciations will, it is thought, whet the pupil's appetite 
for the " feast of fat things " that awaits him in the au- 
thors themselves. 

William Swinton. 

New York, March, 1880. 

*-,.* In the preparation of the " Notes," I have to acknowledge in- 
debtedness to the Clarendon Press series of British classics, to the 
" Longer English Poems " of Hales, and to Rolfe's excellent editions 
of Shakespeare, Gray, and Goldsmith. Acknowledgments are also 
due to Messrs. Houghton, Osgood, & Co., G. P. Putnam's Sons, and 
Messrs. A. S. Barnes & Co., for kind permission to use selections 
from works published by them. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Preface iii 

Definitions xi 

I. William Shakespeare i 

Characterization by Dr. yohn- 
son I 

Miltoii's Tribute to Shake- 
speare 4 

1. Funeral of Julius Caesar. . . 5 

2. Trial Scene from the Mer- 

chant of Venice 17 

II. Fi'ancis Bacou 30 

Three Critics 071 Bacoii's Es- 
says 30 

1. Of Studies 32 

2. Of P'riendship 35 

III. John Milton 44 

Characte7-ization by Chan- 

ning 44 

Three Poets on Milton 48 

1. L' Allegro 49 

2. II Penseroso 57 

3. Milton's Prose 64 

IV. Samuel Butler 72 

Hallani's Critique on But- 
ler's Htidibras 72 

Extracts from Hudibras 74 

V. John Bunyau 84 

Characterization by Taine. . 84 
The Golden City 88 



PAGE 

yi. John Dryden 100 

Characterization by Walter 

Scott 100 

1. Alexander's Feast 103 

2. Two Portraits in Aqua- 

fortis Ill 

VII. Jonathan Swift — 115 

Characterization by Lord 

Jeffrey 115 

Pope's Lines on Swift 118 

The Academy of Lagado. . . ; 119 

VIIIo Joseph Addisou 124 

Characterization by Macati- 

lay 1 24 

Pope''s Venomed Shaft. .... 128 

Sir Roger de Coverley 129 

IX. Alexander Pope 147 

Dr. yohnsott's Parallel be- 
tween Pope and Dry- 
den 147 

Essay on Man 150 

X. Benjamin Franklin 164 

Characterization by Lord 

Jffrey 164 

From Franklin's Autobiogra- 
phy 167 

XI. Samuel Johnson 180 

Characterization by Macatc- 

lay 180 



CONTENTS. 



1. Cowley and His Contem- 

poraries 184 

2. Letter to the Earl of Ches- 

terfield 190 

3. Vanity of Military Ambi- 

tion 191 

XII. Thomas Gray 194 

Characterization by Mack- 
intosh 194 

1. Elegy Written in a Coun- 

try Church-yard 196 

2. The Progress of Poesy. . . . 204 

XIII. Oliver Goldsmith 211 

Thackeray's Tribute to Gold- 
smith 211 

The Deserted Village 213 

XIV. Edmund Burke 229 

Characterization by Hazlitt. 229 

1. Lord Chatham 232 

2. The Spirit of Liberty in 

the American Colonies. . 237 

3. Treatment of the King and 

Queen of France 244 

XT. William Cowper 248 

, Characterization by Camp- 
bell 248 

Mrs. Browning' s Stanzas 

on Cowper'' s Grave 250 

On the Receipt of my Moth- 
er's Picture out of Nor- 
folk • 251 

XVI. Edward Gihbou 257 

Gibbon's own Account of 

his Great History 257 

The Overthrow of Zenobia. . 260 

XVII. Robert Burns 270 

Characterization by Thomas 
Carlyle 270 



PAGE 

Fitz- Greene Halleck's Trib- 
ute to Bttrns 273 

X. The Cotter's Saturday 

Night 276 

2. To a Mountain Daisy. . . . 285 

3. For A' That, and A' That. 287 

XVIII. William Wordsworth. 289 

Characterization by Lowell. 289 
Intimations of Immortality 
from Recollections of 
Early Childhood 292 

XIX. Walter Scott 302 

Characterization by R. H. 

Hutton 302 

The Christian Knight and 

the Saracen Cavalier. . . 305 

XX. Samuel T. Coleridge — 313 

Characterization by Craik.. 313 

1. Love 315 

2. Morning Hymn to Mont 

Blanc 320 

3. Passage from Christabel.. 322 

XXI. Charles Lamb 323 

Charactei'ization by De 
Quincey 323 

Dissertation on Roast Pig. . . 325 

XXII. Daniel Webster 335 

Characterization by Rufits 

Choate 335 

From the Speech in Reply 

to Hayne 339 

XXIII. Washington Irving'. . 347 

Characterization by Thack- 
eray 347 

Westminster Abbey 350 

XXIV. Thomas De Quincey. . 366 

Characterization by Leslie 
Stephen 366 



CONTENTS. 



1. On the Knocking at the 

Gate in Macbeth 368 

2. A Dream Fugue 375 

XXV. George G. Byron 376 

Characterization by Taine. 376 

The Prisoner ofChillon 379 

XXVI. Percy B. Shelley 396 

Cha7-acterization by Sym- 

onds 396 

1. Ode to a Skylark 399 

2. Defence of Poetry 405 

XXVII. William C. Bryant.. 408 

Characterization by G. W. 

Curtis 408 

1. Thanatopsis. 411 

2. The Planting of the Ap- 

ple-tree 415 

XXVIII. Thomas Carlyle. ... 417 

Characterization by Loivell. 417 

Three Lurid Pictures 420 

XXIX. Thomas B. Macaulay. 429 

CJiaracterization by E. A. 

Freeman 429 

The Puritans 432 

XXX. Ralph W. Emerson... 438 

Characterization by A. 

Branson Alcott. 438 

1. Compensation 441 

2. The Problem 453 

XXXI. Nath'l Hawthorne . . 455 

Characterization by George 

B. Smith 455 

From the Scarlet Letter. . . . 458 

XXXII. H. W. LongfeUow. . 470 

Characterization by G. IV. 

Cnrtis 470 

Keramos 473 



XXXIII. John G. Whittier. . 491 

Characterization by David 
Wasson 491 

1. Proem 493 

2. Maud Muller 495 

3. Skipper Ireson's Ride. . . . 499 

XXXIV. Oliyer W. Holmes. . 503 

Characterization by J. G. 
Whittier 503 

1. The Deacon's Masterpiece. 506 

2. The Chambered Nauti- 

lus 510 

3. The Last Leaf. 511 

XXXV. Alfred Tennyson. 513 

Characterization by Bayard 
Taylor 513 

I.Ulysses 5^7 

2. Locksley Hall 520 

XXXVI. W. M. Thackeray. 529 

Tribute by Charles Dickens. 529 
De Finibus 533 

XXXVII. Charles Dickens. 545 

Characterization by E. P. 

Whipple 545 

A Christmas Carol 549 

XXXVIII. James R. Lowell. 579 

Vision of Sir Launfal 579 

XXXIX. George Eliot 593 

Characterization by R. H. 

Hutton 593 

From Romola 596 

XL. Thomas H. Huxley 608 

The Scientific Spirit in Mod- 
ern Thought 608 

Glossary 62 1 



MASTERPIECES 

OF 

ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

DEFINITIONS. 



LITERATURE AND ITS DEPARTMENTS. 

1. Literature (Lat. literatura, from litera, a letter), in its 
most general import, is the collective body of literary pro- 
ductions preserved in writing ; but, in its specific sense, it 
includes only those writings that come within the sphere 
of rhetoric, or the literary art. 

I. The definition excludes from the category of literature all 
books that are technical or special in their scope — hence all 
works of mere science or erudition, — so that, varying the form 
of statement, we may say that the literature of any nation is 
its body of "volumes paramount," dealing with subjects of 
common interest and clothed in the form of literary art. 

II. The French term belles-lettres (literally elegant letters, " po- 
lite literature ") is sometimes used as synonymous with liter- 
ature in its stricter sense. 

2. Classification by Form; — As regards the form of expres- 
sion, literary productions are divided into two classes — 
prose and verse (poetry). 



xii MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

3. Prose/ in its mechanism, is that species of composi- 
tion in which words are arranged in unversified or non- 
metrical sentences. It is the ordinary form of oral or writ- 
ten discourse. 

4. Verse,- or poetry, in its mechanism, is that species of 
composition in which words are metrically arranged ; that 
is, arranged in lines (verses) containing a definite number 
and succession of accented and unaccented syllables. 

It must be understood that the definitions given above have 
regard merely to the outer form, or mechanism, of the two 
species of written composition. And this should the more 
clearly be borne in mind because there is great latitude, and 
thereby the possibility of great ambiguity, in the use of the 
woxdi^ poetry, verse, rhyme, prose, etc. Thus "poetry" is some- 
times narrowed to an equivalence with verse, or metrical com- 
position; "verse" is sometimes extended to an equivalence 
\i\X}a. poetty ; and "rhyme" is sometimes used as a synonym 
oi poetry and as the antithesis oi prose : thus — 

"Things miattempted yet va prose or rhymeP — Milton. 

On the other hand, " prose " is often used to denote what is 
dull and commonplace, without regard to whether the com- 
position is metrical or non-metrical. 

5. Classification by Matter. — As regards matter, or essen- 
tial nature, literary productions are divided into various 
classes, according as the end aimed at is (i) to inform the 
understanding, (2) to influence the will, or (3) to excite 
pleasurable feelings. The principal departments of liter- 
ature are : 

1. Description, narration, and exposition, which have for 
their object to inform the understanding. 

2. Oratory, or persuasion, which has for its object to in- 
fluence the will. 

3. Poetry, which has for its most characteristic function 
to excite pleasurable feelings. 

^\j!ii. prosci, equivalent to Lat. prorsa (oraiio understood), from prorsus, 
straightforward, straight on. 

^ Lat. versus, a furrow, a row (from vertere, to turn) ; hence a metrical line, 
and, by an extension of meaning, metrical composition. 



DEFINITIONS. xiii 

6. Description, or descriptive writing, is that kind of com- 
position in wliich an object of some degree of complexity 
is represented in language. 

I. Description is generally divided into two kinds : 

a. Objective description — referring to objects perceptible to 
the senses. 

b. Subjective description — referring to the feelings and the 
thoughts of the mind. 

Scott and Byron afford striking examples of the two kinds of 
description. These two men of genius belonged to the same 
school of literature and wrote on kindred themes ; but Scott 
is objective, Byron subjective. " Scott detailed all his scenes 
down to the minutest point, and was content with the object 
itself, without seeking to go very far beneath the surface. 
Byron, on the other hand, loved to seize the striking features 
in his scenes, and, after mentioning these in a bold and 
graphic manner, to dwell upon their hidden meaning. The 
battle-scene in Marmion may be compared with that of Wa- 
terloo in Childe Harold. The former is full of action — the 
strife of men, their suffering, their wild excitement or wilder 
despair ; the latter is full of the poet's thoughts, and is pro- 
foundly meditative." (De Mille : Rhetoric?) 

The two kinds of description, however, are generally found 
existing together, the subjective intermingling with the ob- 
jective. 

II. Description is involved in nearly all the other kinds of 
composition — in narration, which must often be a series of 
descriptions ; in exposition, or science, which has frequently 
to proceed upon description ; and in poetry, which partakes 
so largely of description that descriptive poetry is recognized 
as a distinctive species of poetical composition. 

7. Narration, or narrative writing, is that kind of compo- 
sition which sets forth the particulars of a series of trans- 
actions or events. 

I. Like description, narration may be divided into objective 
and subjective, the former including all recital of external 
events, the latter dealing with mental processes and the prog- 
ress of events in connection with their philosophy. 

II. Narration includes within itself more departments of litera- 
ture than any other kind of composition. Thus objective 
narration appears id) in ordinary external history and bi- 



xiv MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

ography, {b) in prose fiction, ic) in epic poetry, ballads, and 
metrical romances, (d) in dramatic poetry, (<?) in lyric poetry, 
(/) in scientific writings, and {g) in exposition whenever the 
writer deals with the record of events. 
In like manner, subjective narration appears {a) in philosophi- 
cal history and biography, {p) in the novel of character, ic) in 
the modern (as contrasted with ancient) epic, as Dante's Di- 
vine Comedy, id') in dramatic literature, (<?) in lyric poetry, as 
Tennyson's hi Memoriam, and (/") in exposition where it is 
necessary to give an account of the progress of principles. 

8. Exposition, or expository v^riting, is that kind of com- 
position in which facts or principles are discussed, and the 
conclusion is reached by a process of reasoning. 

The expository art is applied to all the departments of human 
thought or knowledge ; hence expository composition ap- 
pears in many forms. Among these the principal are, {a) the 
treatise, or full discussion of a subject, ib) the essay, or briefer 
exposition of a subject, ic) the editorial article, and {d') the 
philosophic poem. 

9. Oratory, or persuasion, is that kind of composition in 
which it is sought to influence the mind by arguments or 
reasons offered, or by anything that inclines the will to a 
determination. 

I. According to Aristotle, the divisions of oratory are three- 
fold : I. Deliberative; 2. Judicial; 3. Demonstrative. Bain 
makes a fourfold classification : i . The oratory of the law- 
courts ; 2. Political oratory ; 3. Pulpit oratory ; 4. Moral 
suasion. Bain's first agrees with Aristotle's second ; Bain's 
second with Aristotle's first, and Bain's fourth with Aris- 
totle's third. Bain's third is of course a modern department 
of oratory. 

II. Persuasion may employ any one or all the modes of simple 
communication — description, narration, or exposition. 

10. Poetry is a fine art, operating by means of thought 
conveyed in language. 

I. "Poetry," says Prof. Bain, "agrees generically with painting, 
sculpture, architecture, and music ; and its specific mark is 
derived from the instrumentality employed. Painting is 
based on color, sculpture on form, music on a peculiar class 



DEFINITIONS. XV 

of sounds, and poetry on the meaning and form of language." 
Taking this definition in connection with that of poetry as a 
synonym of verse, it will be seen how wide is the distinction 
between poetry in its essence and poetry in its form. Indeed, 
so thoroughly is excited and elevated imagination identified 
with poetry that it may even wear the garb of prose. 
II. Poetry is divided into the following species: 

1. Narrative poetry, including {ci) the epic, as the Iliad, Par- 
adise Lost ; (p) the metrical romance, as Scott's Lady of the 
Lake ; if) the ballad, as Macaulay's Lays of Ancient Rome ; 
and {d') the tale, as Longfellow's Evattgeline. 

2. Lyric poetry, including (ci) the song, secular and religious ; 
ip) the ode, as Dryden's Alexander s Feast ; {c) the elegy, 
as Gray's Elegy in a Coinitry Churchyard ; and {d) the 
sonnet. 

3. Dramatic poetry, including tragedy, as Hamlet, and com- 
edy, as the Merchant of Venice. 

4. Descriptive poetry, as Thomson's Seasons. 

5. Didactic poetry, as Wordsworth's Exctirsion. 

6. Pastoral poetry, as Allen Ramsay's Gentle Shepherd. 

7. Satirical poetry, as Butler's Hudibras. 

8. Humorous poetry, as Cowper's 'Joh7t Gilpin. 

11. Kinds of Verse. — Verse is of tw^o kinds — rhyme and 
blank verse. 

12. Rhyme is that species of verse in which is found con- 
cord of sounds in words at the end of hnes. 

13. Blank verse consists of unrhymed Hnes of the iambic 
metre of five or five and a half feet. 

The iambic foot consists of an unaccented syllable followed by 
one which is accented, as prepare, convey. 

14. Prosody is that division of rhetoric which treats of 
versification. 

It does not come within the scope of this work to enter into 
the details of prosody, a sufficiently full treatment of which 
will be found in most rhetorical text-books. A compendi- 
ous view of the subject is presented in Swinton's New School 
Composition. 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



II. 

STYLE. 

15. Definition and Topics. — Style refers to the choice and 
arrangement of words, and may be defined as the pecuHar 
manner in which thought is expressed in language. 
It includes the following topics : 
I. The figures of speech. 
II. The order of zvords. 
III. The qualities of style. 



I. FIGURES OF SPEECH. 

16. A figure of speech is a deviation from the direct and 
literal mode of expression for greater effect. It is a form 
of speech artfully varied from the common usage. 

17. Classification. — Figures of speech may be divided 
into three classes: I. Figures of relativity ; II. Figures 
oi gradation ; III. Figures oi emphasis. Under this head 
also may come the grammatical figures — ellipsis, enaliage, 
and pleonasm. 

The principal figures of which mention is made in this book 
are as follows : 



Figures of 
Relativity 



ANTITHESIS. 
SIMILE. 
METAPHOR. 
ALLEGORY. 



APOSTROPHE. 
VISION. 
ALLUSION. 
IRONY. 



PERSONIFICATION. SARCASM. 



SYNECDOCHE. 

METONYMY. 

EUPHEMISM. 

LITOTES. 

EPITHET. 



r 

Figures of Gradation \ 



CLIMAX. 
HYPERBOLE. 



I EPIZEUXIS. 
Figures of Emphasis -I ANAPHORA. 

I ALLITERATION. 



ANACOLUTHON. 
APOSIOPESIS. 



DEFINITIONS. xvii 

/. Figures of Relativity. 

18. Antithesis is the statement of a contrast or opposi- 
tion of thoughts and words, as — 

" In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 
As mild behavior and humility ; 
But when the blast oiwar blows in our ears, 
Let us be tigers in our fierce deportment." 

I. Oxymoron is an antithesis arising from the opposition of two 
contradictory terms, as '"a pious fraud" "O victorious de- 
feat!" 

II. Antimetabole is an antithesis in which the order of words 
is reversed in each member, as "A wit with dunces, and a 
dunce with wits." 

III. Parison, or isocotott, is an antithesis in which clauses of 
similar construction follow in a series, word contrasting with 
word, phrase with phrase, etc., as " Homer was the greater 
genius, Virgil the better artist. In the one we most admire 
the man, in the other the work. Homer hurries us with a 
commanding impetuosity, Virgil leads us with an attractive 
majesty." 

19. The simile, or comparison, is a figure that formahy 
Hkens one thing to another, as — 

"Him, like the working bee in blossom dust. 
Blanched with his mill they found." — Tennyson. 

20. The metaphor is a comparison imphed in the lan- 
guage used. It transfers a word from the object to which 
it hterally belongs, and applies it to another, as — 

He bridles his anger. 
" Athens, the eye of Greece, 
Mother of arts and eloquence." — Milton. 

I. Metaphor dispenses with the connectives of comparison (like, 
as, etc.) used in the simile; and instead of stating that one 
thing resembles another, asserts that it is that other : thus — 

Simile. He was as brave as a lion. 
Metaphor. He was a lion in the combat. 

II. Co7iversion into Simile. — Every metaphor may be converted 
into a simile, since every metaphor is a condensed simile. 
The process of expansion is a matter of tact rather than of 
rule ; but so far as any rule can be given, the following may be 
serviceable. First, it is to be noted that a simile is a kind of 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



rhetorical proposition, and must, when fully expressed, con- 
tain four terms. Now let the metaphor to be explained be 
" The ship ploughs the land." The following is the rule 
given by Seeley and Abbott (EngUsh Lesso7is, p. 131) : "It has 
been seen that the simile consists of four terms. In the third 
term of the simile stands the subject (' ship,' for instance) 
whose unknown predicated relation (' action of ship on wa- 
ter ') is to be explained. In the first term stands the corre- 
sponding subject (' plough '), whose predicated relation (' ac- 
tion on land ') is known. In the second term is the known 
relation. The fourth term is the unknown predicated rela- 
tion, which requires explanation." Thus — 



As 


the plough 
Known subject. 


turns up the land. 
Known predicate- 


so 


the ship 

Subject whose 
predicate is 
unknown. 


acts on the sea. 

Unknown 
predicate. 



III. Mixed Metaphors. — It is a well-known canon of the meta- 
phor that in the same metaphor figures should not be mixed. 
A familiar example is afforded by the following couplet from 
Addison : 

" I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain, 
That longs to launch into a nobler strain." 

Here the Muse, a goddess, is spoken of as being " bridled." 
Then, after raising the image of a horse, the author con- 
founds us by viewing the Muse as a ship that longs to launch 
itself — and into a " strain !" Yet it is Addison who formulated 
this capital test of metaphors : 

"Try and form a picture on them." 

21. Allegory is a narrative with a figurative meaning, de- 
signed to convey instruction of a moral character. The 
Faerie Qiieene of Spenser and Bunyan's Pilgrinis P?'ogress 
are the greatest allegories in English literature. 

Allegory has been called "a prolonged metaphor." Subjects 
remote from each other are brought into a similitude sus- 
tained throughout the details. Thus in Bunyan's immortal 
work the spiritual life or progress of a Christian is repre- 
sented in detail by the story of a pilgrim in search of a dis- 
tant country, which he reaches after many struggles and dif- 
ficulties. In the Faerie Queefie the vices and virtues are per- 
sonified, and made to act out their nature in a series of sup- 
posed adventures. 



DEFINITIONS. xix 

22. Personification is that figure in whicli some action or 
attribute of a living being is ascribed to an inanimate ob- 
ject, as — 

"The mountains sing together, the hills rejoice and clap hands." 

23. Apostrophe is that figure in which something absent 

is addressed as though present. It is found chiefly in 

poetry and oratory. 

"Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour: 
England hath need of thee." — Wordsworth. 

24. Vision is the narration of past or absent scenes as 
though actually occurring before us. It is allied to and 
is often found associated with apostrophe. 

I. Byron's description of the Dying Gladiator— 

" I see before me the gladiator lie," etc. — 

is a familiar example of vision. 

II. Metastasis. — Metastasis is a kind of description similar to 
vision : it involves a transition from the present to the future. 
A good example is found in the peroration of Webster's 
reply to Hayne. (See p. 345 of this book.) 

25. Allusion is that figure by which some word or phrase 
calls to mind something not directly mentioned, as— 

" It may be said of him that he came, he saw, he conquered." 

The allusion here is to Caesar's famous despatch (" Veni, vidi, 
vici"), which it calls to mind. 

Rhetoricians make various degrees of allusion, and among 
others direct allusion (as "The patience of Job is proverbi- 
al"); but, properly speaking, this is not allusion: it is mere 
reference. Allusion is always oblique. The following, in 
which Milton wishes to denote Moses, is an allusion in the 
strict sense : 

"That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed 
111 the beginning how the heaven and earth 
Rose out of chaos." 

26. Irony is a mode of speech expressing a meaning con- 
trary to that which the speaker intends to convey, as in 
Job's address to his friends, '' No doubt but ye are the 
people, and wisdom will die with you." 

27. Sarcasm is a mode of expressing vituperation under 

B 



XX MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

a somewhat veiled form. The Letters of Junius come 
under this description. 

Sarcasm is generally softened in the outward expression by the 
arts and figures of disguise — irony, innuendo, and epigram. 
Pope's Atticus (see pp. 128, 129 of this book) is a fine ex- 
ample. 

28. Synecdoche is that figure which consists in substitut- 
ing words denoting a part, a species, or the concrete for 
words denoting the whole, a genus, or the abstract; or the 
reverse. Thus — 

I . A part for the whole, as sail for ship. 

1. The species for the genus, as "our daily bread" for our daily 
food. 

3. The concrete for the abstract, as "The/a//^<?r yearns in the 
true prince's \v^-Axt"— father me^nlng^ paternal love. 

4. The whole for a part, as America for the United States. 

5. The genus for the species, as a vessel for a ship, a creature 
for a man. 

6. The abstract for the concrete, as — 

" Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her chivalry" 

meaning her beautiful women and bi'ave men. 

Antonomasia. — Antonomasia is a form of synecdoche resem- 
bling (2), only that instead of the species being put for the 
genus, the individual is put for the species. It consists in 
using a proper name to designate a class, as a Solomon for a 
wise man, a Crcssus for a rich man. 

29. Metonymy is that figure in which one thing is de- 
scribed by the name of another thing having to the thing 
described the relation of cause, effect, adjunct, or accom- 
paniment. Thus : 

1. Cause for effect, as "the savage desolation of war," where the 
cause of the desolation (a savage spirit) is put for the effect. 

2. The effect for the cause, 2& gray hairs for old age. 

3. The sign for the thing signified, as sceptre for royalty, the 
White House for the office of President. 

4. The container for the thing contained, as bottle for intoxicat- 
ing drink, purse for money. 



DEFINITIONS. xxi 

5. The instrument for the agent, as the arbitration of the sword 
— meaning war. 

6. An author for his works, as "They have Moses and the 
prophets," "We find in Bacon" — meaning Baco7ts writings. 

Distinction. — From definitions 28 and 29 it may be inferred that 
a synecdoche is a figure in which a word is used to express a 
thing that differs from its original meaning only in degree, and 
not in kind ; while a metonymy is a figure in which a word 
is used to express a thing differing from its original in kind. 
Hence metonymies are somewhat bolder than synecdoches. 

30. Euphemism is the figure by means of which a harsh 
meaning is expressed in words of softer signification, as 
" He was unable to meet his engagements'' for he failed in 
business. 

31. Litotes is that figure in which, by denying the con- 
trary, more is impHed than is expressed, as — 

" Immortal names, 
That were not born to die" — i. a., that will live. 

32. Transferred Epithet. — An epithet is a word joined to 
another in order to explain its character, as sea-girt Sala- 
mis, the sunny South. 

The transference of an epithet from its proper subject to some 
allied subject or circumstance is a common figure in poetry, 
as — 

" Hence to his idle bed." 

"The little fields made green 
By husbandry of many thrifty years.'''' 

II. Figures of Gradation. 

33. Climax is an ascending series of thoughts or state- 
ments, increasing in strength or importance until the last. 
Thus : 

"It is an outrage to bind a Roman citizen ; to scourge him is an atrocious 
crime; Xo put him to death is almost a parricide ; but to CRUCIFY him 
— what shall I call it?" — Cicero. 

Anticlimax. — Any great departure from the order of ascending 
strength is called an anticlimax. Thus : 

" If once a man indulges himself in murder, very soon he comes to think little of rob- 
bing ; and from robbing he comes next to drinking and Sabbath-breaking, and from 
that to incivility and procrastination." — De Quincey. 



xxii MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

34. Hyperbole is that figure by which more than the Ht- 

eral truth is expressed. It consists in magnifying objects 

beyond their natural bounds, so as to make them more 

impressive or more intelligible. Thus : 

" Beneath the lowest deep, a lower deep. 
Still threatening to devour me, opens wide." — Milton. 

'///. Figures of Emphasis. 

35. Epizeuxis is the immediate repetition of some word 
or words for the sake of emphasis, as — 

'■^FeWjfezt) shall part where many meet." 

Repetitio Crebra. — The name "repetitio crebra" is applied to 
the frequent repetition of a word, as — 

"He sang Darius, good and great, 
Fallen., falleii. fallen^ fallen, 
Fallen from his high estate." — Dryden. 

36. Anaphora is the repetition of a word or phrase at the 
beginning of each of several sentences, or divisions of a 
sentence, as — 

" By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed. 
By foi-eign hands thy decent limbs composed, 
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned. 
By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned."— PoPE. 

37. Alliteration is the repetition of the same initial letter 
of emphatic words, as — ■ 

"^pt alliteration's «rtful «id." — Churchill. 
"ioill/athoms/ive thy/ather lies."— Shakespeare. 

38. Anacoluthon is the device of leaving a proposition 

unfinished, and introducing something else to complete 

the sentence, as — 

" If thou be'st he — but oh, how fallen, how changed 
From him who," etc. 

39. Aposiopesis is a sudden pause in the course of a sen- 
tence by which the conclusion is left unfinished, as — 

" For there I picked up on the heather, 
And there I put within my breast, 
A moulted feather, an eagle's feather — 
Well — I forget the rest." — Browning. 



DEFINITIONS. • xxiii 

IV. Grammatical Figures. 

40. Ellipsis is the omission of words with a rhetorical 
purpose. Thus "Impossible!" is more expressive than a 
complete sentence affirming impossibility. 

Asyndeton, or the omission of connectives, is a device of which 
considerable use is made both in prose and poetry : " The 
wind passeth over it — it is gone." 

41. Enallage is the substitution of one part of speech for 
another, as — 

" Whether the charmer sinner it or saint it, 
If folly grow romantic, I must paint it." — Pope. 

42. Pleonasm is the employment of more words than 
usual, or of redundant words, as " Thy rod and thy staff, 
tJiey comfort me." 

When properly employed, pleonasm is a legitimate rhetorical 
device, and may be productive of a high degree of emphasis. 



II. THE ORDER OF WORDS. 

43. Words may be arranged in two orders — the gram- 
matical and the rhetorical order. 

44. The grammatical order, otherwise called the direct, or 
prose order, is the ordinary prose arrangement of words in 
a sentence. 

There is a customary order of the parts of a sentence which in 
ordinary speech and writing we unconsciously follow. Thus 
the subject precedes the verb, and the arrangement of a sim- 
ple sentence is in the order of subject, verb, object. But for 
the sake of emphasis or ornament this natural arrangement 
is often departed from. 

45. The rhetorical order, otherwise called the indirect, or 
poetic order, is an inverted arrangement of words, adopted 
with a view to greater effect. It is characteristic of poe- 
try, and of elevated or impassioned prose. 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



GRAMMATICAL ORDER. 

I shall attempt neither to palliate 
nor deny the atrocious crime of 
being a young man. 

The gate is wide and the way is 
broad that leadeth to destruc- 
tion. 

They could take their rest, for 
they knew that Lord Stratford 
watched. They feared kim, 
they trusted him, they obeyed 
hi?n. 

The night-winds sigh, the break- 
ers roar, and the wild sea-mew 
shrieks. 



RHETORICAL ORDER. 

The atrocious crime of being a 
young man I shall attempt nei- 
ther to palliate nor deny. 

Wide is the gate and broad is the 
way that leadeth to destruc- 
tion. 

They could take their rest, for 
they knew that Lord Stratford 
watched. Him they feared, 
him they trusted, him they 
obeyed. 

The night-winds sigh, the break- 
ers roar. 

And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 



III. THE QUALITIES OF STYLE. 

46. The principal qualities of style are perspicuity, en- 
ergy, and melody. 

47. Perspicuity, or clearness of expression, is such a use 
of words that they may readily be understood by those to 
whom they are addressed. 

48. Its Sources. — The principal sources of perspicuity are 
simplicity and precision. 

49. Simplicity of style arises from the choice of simple 
words, and from such an arrangement of words in sentences 
as adapts them to easy comprehension. The works of De 
Foe, Bunyan, Addison, Franklin, and Washington Irving 
illustrate this quality. 

L Simplicity, in so far as it depends on- diction, is best obtained 
by the employment of specific and concrete terms rather than 
those that are general or abstract. It is also secured by the 
use of Anglo-Saxon words (see Def. 6i) rather than those of 
classical origin. And it is to be observed that there is an in- 
timate relation between these two sources of simplicity ; for 
it will be found that most specific and concrete terms are of 
Anglo-Saxon, and most general and abstract terms of classi- 
cal, origin. This is well illustrated in the following passage 
from an essay by Henry Rogers ; " Move and motiofi are gen- 



DEFINITIONS. XXV 

eral terms of Latin origin ; but all the special terms for ex- 
pressing varieties of motion are Anglo-Saxon, as mn, walk, 
leap, stagger, slip, step, slide. Color is Latin ; but white, black, 
green, yellow, blue, red, brown, are Anglo - Saxon, Crime is 
Latin ; but murder, theft, robbery, to lie, to steal, are Anglo- 
Saxon. Member and organ, as applied to the body, are Latin 
and Greek ; but ear, eye, hand, foot, lip, mouth, teeth, hair, fin- 
ger, nostril, are Anglo-Saxon. Animal is Latin ; but niati, 
horse, coiu, sheep, dog, cat, calf , goat, are Anglo-Saxon. Ntimber 
is Latin ; but all our cardinal and ordinal numbers, as far as 
a million, are Anglo-Saxon." 
IL Simplicity, in so far as it depends on the structure of sen- 
tences, is best obtained by the use of short rather than long 
sentences, and of the loose sentence rather than the period 
(see Def. 57), and by an easy, natural, and inartificial arrange- 
ment of words, phrases, and clauses. 

50. Precision consists in the selection of such u^^ords as 
may exhibit neither more nor less than the meaning which 
the writer intends to convey. 

51. Its Violations. — The most frequent violations of pre- 
cision are: I. By \.\i& faulty use of synonymous zvords ; II. 
By the improper use of zvords ; III. By the use of vague 
zvords ; IV. By tautology ; V. By circumlocution. 

L By the faulty use of synonymous words, as where modest 
(which refers to the habit of mind, and is commendable) is 
used for bashfid (which refers to the state of feeling, and is 
reprehensible). 

IL By the improper use of words, as " I would not demean my- 
self," where " demean," which signifies behave, is, by confusion 
arising from the root mean, used for debase or lower. 

III. By the use of vague words, as affair, circumstance, remarka- 
ble, where used in place of definite and specific words. 

IV. By tautology, or the repetition of the same idea in different 
words, as " They returned back again to the same ^\slc& frorn 
whence they came forth ;" which is reducible to " They re- 
turned to the place whence they departed." A critic has 
pointed out that Dr. Johnson's couplet, 

" Let observation with extensive view 
Survey mankind from China to Peru," 

is equivalent to " Let observation with extensive observation 
observe mankind extensively." 



xxvi MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

V. By circumlocution, or a roundabout mode of speech, in 
which words are multipHed to an unnecessary extent. The 
following is an example of circumlocution : 

" Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, whom, whenever an oppor- 
tunity was presented, he praised through the whole period of his existence with un- 
varying liberality ; and perhaps his character may receive some illustration, if a com- 
parison be instituted between him and the man whose pupil he was." — Du. Johnson. 

Condensed thus by Bain : 

" Pope professed himself the pupil of Dryden, whom he lost no opportunity of praising ; 
and his character is illustrated by a comparison with his master." 

52. Energy (variously termed by writers on rhetoric vigor, 
force, strength, vivacity, and persuasiveness) is that quaHty 
of style which conduces to arouse the attention, enforce 
argument, stimulate imagination, and excite the feelings. 
It is the vital element in style. 

I. Among the requisites of energy are simplicity (the simplest 
words being often the strongest), conciseness, and precision. 

II. Another important device for securing energy of style is 
the use of specific and concrete terms rather than of general 
and abstract terms. 

53. Melody, harmony, or music of language is that qual- 
ity in style which gives pleasure by the use of euphonious 
words and rhythmical arrangements. 

I. While the "harmony of sweet sounds" is an essential of 
verse, it is influential in prose also. Prose has its rhythm 
as well as poetry, only it is less artificial and more varied. 
"Rhythm in prose," says De Mille, "may be defined as the 
alternate swelling and lessening of sound at certain intervals. 
It refers to the general effect of sentences and paragraphs, 
where the words are chosen and arranged so as not only to 
express the meaning of the writer, but also to furnish a mu- 
sical accompaniment which shall at once delight the ear by 
its sound, and help out the sense by its suggestiveness." 

II. The following passage from De Quincey has relation to the 
subject of prose rhythm, and is further interesting as in itself 
an illustration of rhythmic prose : 

" Where, out of Sir Thomas Browne, shall we hope to find music so Miltonic, an intona- 
tion of such solemn chords as are struck in the following opening bar of a passage in 
the U?-7i-B}irial : ' Now since these bones have rested quietly in the grave, under the 
drums and ti-amplings of three conquests,' etc. What a melodious ascent as of a prel- 
ude to some impassioned requiem breathing from the pomps of the earth and from 
the sanctities of the grave! What 3.yijictiis decianauus of rhetoric! Time expounded 



DEFINITIONS. xxvii 

not by generations or centuries, but by vast periods of conquests and dynasties ; by 
cycles of Pharaohs and Ptolemies, Antiochi and Arsacides ! And these vast succes- 
sions of time distinguished and figured by the uproars which revolve at their inaugura- 
tions—by the drums and tramplings rolling overhead upon the chambers of forgotten 
dead — the trepidations of time and mortahty vexing, at secular intervals, the ever- 
lasting Sabbaths of the grave ! ' ' 



III. 

TYPES OF SENTENCES. 



54. Classification. — Sentences are classified grammatically 
and rhetorically. Grammatically, they are divided, as re- 
gards structure, into simple, complex, and compound ; and, 
as regards use, into declarative, interrogative, imperative, 
and exclamative. Rhetorically, they are divided into loose 
sentences and periods. 

55. Divisions by Structure. — A simple sentence consists of 
one independent proposition ; a complex sentence consists 
of one independent (or principal) proposition and one or 
more clauses ; ' a compound sentence consists of two or 
more independent propositions. 

56. Divisions by Use. — A declarative sentence is one that 
expresses an assertion (that is, an affirmation or a nega- 
tion) ; an intei'rogative sentence is one that expresses a 
question ; an imperative sentence is one that expresses a 
command or an entreaty ; an exclamative sentence is one 
that expresses a thought in an interjectional manner. 

57. A loose sentence consists of parts which may be sep- 
arated without destroying the sense. Thus : 

The Puritans looked down with contempt on the rich | and the elo- 
quent, I on nobles | and priests. 

I. The above is a loose sentence, because if we pause at any 
of the places marked, the sense is grammatically complete. 
Sometimes, as in this instance, it is necessary to supply ellip- 
ses in order to make the latter part complete ; in other cases, 

^The term clause is in this book always used in the sense of a dej^endent 
or subordinate proposition, introduced by a connective. It is never applied 
to the independent nieinhers of a compound sentence. 



xxviii MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

as in the following, the latter part will make complete sense 
alone : " It seems, gentlemen, that this is an age of reason ; 
the time and the person have at last arrived that are to dis- 
sipate the errors of past ages." Here a full stop might be 
put after "reason," and the following word begun with a cap- 
ital, thus converting the sentence into two sentences. 
II. Some writers so punctuate as to appear to write very long 
sentences, which are really only a union of short ones in one 
long loose sentence. Other writers (as Macaulay) are in the 
habit of breaking up loose sentences into their constituent 
parts and punctuating them as separate sentences. This 
practice gives rise to what the French call the style coitpe. 

58. A period is a sentence in which the complete sense 
is suspended until the close. Thus : 

On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, the Puritans looked 
down with contempt. 

I. Periods, in the strict sense of the definition, are not very nu- 
merous, for in most periodic sentences a complete meaning 
is reached somewhat before the close. Thus the first sen- 
tence of Paradise Lost, if stopped at "heavenly Muse," would 
be a period; continued to "in prose or rhyme," it is, strictly 
speaking, loose. Nevertheless, sentences which, though not 
absolutely periods, yet tend towards that type, are said to be 
periodic in structure. 

II. Balanced Setttence. — The term balanced sentence is applied 
to a sentence in which the words, phrases, and clauses in one 
part correspond with the words, phrases, and clauses in an- 
other part. The balanced sentence generally consists of a 
series of antitheses, and in this case it is identical with the 
figure rvSiXw^d, parisoii, or isocolon. (See Def., p. xiii.) 

III. It often happens that the cardinal distinction between the 
style of two writers is simply a difference in the prevailing 
type of sentence into which the writers cast their thoughts. 
Thus, marked as is the contrast between the style of Hume 
and that of Gibbon, analysis will show that the principal char- 
acteristic of Hume's style is his habitual use of the loose sen- 
tence, and of Gibbon's his habitual use of the period. 



DEFINITIONS. 



IV. 

THE ENGLISH VOCABULARY. 

59. The vocabulary of a language is the whole body of 
words in that language. Hence the English vocabulary 
consists of all the words in the English language. 

The English vocabulary is very extensive, as is shown by the 
fact that in our great dictionaries there are nearly 100,000 
words. But it should be observed that 3000 or 4000 serve all 
the ordinary purposes of oral and written comniunication. 
The Old Testament contains 5642 words , Milton uses about 
8000; and Shakespeare, whose vocabulary is more extensive 
than that of any other English writer, employs no more than 
15,000 words. 

60. The principal elements of the English vocabulary are 
words of Anglo-Saxon and of Latin ox French-Latin origin. 

61. Anglo-Saxon is the earliest form of English. The 
whole of the grammar of our language, and the most 
largely used part of its vocabulary, are Anglo-Saxon. 

62. The Latin element in the English vocabulary con- 
sists of a large number of words of Latin origin, adopted 
directly into English at various periods. 

The principal periods during which Latin words were brought 
directly into English are . 

1. At the introduction of Christianity into England by the 
Latin Catholic missionaries, A.D. 596. 

2. At the revival of classical learning in the sixteenth century. 

3. By modern writers. 

63. The French-Latin element in the English language 
consists of French words, first largely introduced into Eng- 
lish by the Norman -French, who conquered England in 
the eleventh century A.D. 

64. Proportions. — From examination of the dictionary, it 



XXX MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

has been found that of every hundred words sixty are of 
Anglo-Saxon origin, thirty of Latin, and five of Greek, 
while all the other sources combined furnish the remain- 
ing five. This, however, is an inadequate mode of esti- 
mating the real proportion of the Anglo - Saxon element 
in the English vocabulary; the true way of judging is by 
an examination of the literature. 

The constant repetition, in any discourse, of conjunctions, prep- 
ositions, auxiliaries, and common adverbs (all of which are of 
Anglo-Saxon origin) causes this element greatly to prepon- 
derate in the pages of even the most Latinized writer. Thus 
Gibbon {Decline and Fall, chapter liv.) uses 68 per cent., Hal- 
lam {Constihitional History, chapter vii.) ^o per cent., and 
Burke {Nabob of Arcofs Debts) 74 per cent ; while Scott {Lay 
of the Last Minstrel, canto i.), Byron {Prisoner of ,Chillon), 
and Dickens {Pickwick Papers, " The Bagman's Story ") em- 
ploy 90 per cent., and Defoe, Bunyan, and the English. Bible 
rise to 93 per cent. 

65. English a Composite Language. — The great simplicity 
and perspicuity of words of Anglo-Saxon origin have led 
some writers, if not to an overvalue of this element, at 
least to an undervalue of the classical element. This is a 
one-sided view, and is not justified by the genius of Eng- 
lish, which is essentially a composite language. The clas- 
sical element is of inestimable value, and tends to give 
our speech that richness and variety which so eminently 
characterize it. 

The following hexameters, by William Wetmore Story, 
poet and sculptor, present a striking description of the 
various elements which contribute to the English vocab- 
ulary : 

.THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 

I. Give me, of every language, first my vigorous English, 
Stored with imported wealth, rich in its natural mines, 
Grand in its rhythmical cadence, simple for household employ- 
ment, 
Worthy the poet's song, fit for the speech of man. 



DEFINITIONS. xxxi 

2. Not from one metal alone the perfectest mirror is shapen, 
Not from one color is built the rainbow's aerial bridge ; 
Instruments blending together yield the divinest of music, 
Out of myriad of flowers sweetest of honey is drawn. 

3. So unto thy close strength is welded and beaten together 
Iron dug from the North, ductile gold from the South ; 

So unto thy broad stream the ice-torrents, born in the mountains. 
Rush, and the rivers pour, brimming with sun from the plains. 

4. Thou hast the sharp clean edge and the downright blow of the 

^ Saxon, 
Thou the majestical march and the stately pomp of the Latin ; 
Thou the euphonious swell, the rhythmical roll of the Greek ; 
Thine is the elegant suavity caught from sonorous Italian ; 
Thine the chivalric obeisance, the courteous grace of the Nor- 
man; 
Thine the Teutonic German's inborn guttural strength. 

5. Raftered by firm-laid consonants, windowed by opening vowels. 
Thou securely art built, free to the sun and the air ; 

Over thy feudal battlements trail the wild tendrils of fancy. 

Where in the early morn warbled our earliest birds ; 

Science looks out from thy watch-tower, love whispers in at thy 

lattice. 
While o'er thy bastions wit flashes its glittering sword. 

6. Not by corruption rotted, nor slowly by ages degraded. 

Have the sharp consonants gone crumbling away from our words ; 
Virgin and clean is their edge, like granite blocks chiselled by 

Egypt; 
Just as when Shakespeare and Milton laid them in glorious verse. 

7. Fitted for every use like a great majestical river. 
Blending thy various streams, stately thou flowest along. 
Bearing the white-winged ship of Poesy over thy bosom, 
Laden with spices that come out of the tropical isles, . 
Fancy's pleasuring yacht with its bright and fluttering pennons. 
Logic's frigates of war, and the toil-worn barges of trade. 

8. How art thou freely obedient unto the poet or speaker, 
When, in a happy hour, thought into speech he translates ! 



xxxii MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 

Caught on the word's sharp angles flash the bright hues of his 

fancy ; 
Grandly the thought rides the words, as a good horseman his 

steed. 

9. Now, clear, pure, hard, bright, and one by one, like to hailstones, 
Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower ; 
Now in a twofold column. Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee, 
Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along ; 
Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate- syl- 
lables, 
Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on ; 
Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas. 
Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words. 

10. Flexile and free in thy gait and simple in all thy construction. 
Yielding to every turn, thou bearest thy rider along ; 

Now like our hackney or draught horse, serving our commonest 

uses. 
Now bearing grandly the poet, Pegasus-like, to the sky. 

11. Thou art not prisoned in fixed rules, thou art no slave to a 

grammar ; 

Thou art an eagle uncaged, scorning the perch and the chain. 

Hadst thou been fettered and formalized, thou hadst been tamer 
and weaker; 

How could the poor slave walk with thy grand freedom of gait ? 

Let, then, grammarians rail, and let foreigners sigh for thy sign- 
posts, 

Wandering lost in thy maze, thy wilds of magnificent growth. 

12. Call thee incongruous, wild, of rule and of reason defiant; 
I in thy wildness a grand freedom of character find. 

So with irregular outline tower up the sky-piercing mountains. 
Rearing o'er yawning chasms lofty precipitous steeps ; 
Spreading o'er ledges unclimbable, meadows and slopes of green 

smoothness ; 
Bearing the flowers in their clefts, losing their peaks in the 

clouds. 

13. Therefore it is that I praise thee and never can cease from re- 

joicing. 
Thinking that good stout English is mine and my ancestor's 
tongue ; 



DEFINITIONS. xxxiii 

Give me its varying music, the flow of its free modulation, 
I will not covet the full roll of the glorious Greek, 
Luscious and feeble Italian, Latin so formal and stately, 
French with its nasal lisp, nor German inverted and harsh, 
Not while our organ can speak with its many and wonderful 

voices. 
Play on the soft flute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, 
Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason, 
Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops. 

W. W. Story. 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE; 

1564-1616. 





fftrt ^ 




CHARACTERIZATION BY DR. JOHNSON.' 
I. Shakespeare is, above all writers — at least, above all modern 
writers — the poet of nature • the poet that holds up to his read- 
ers a faithful mirror of manners and of life. His characters are 

* The correct spelling of the poet's name has long been a matter of dispute 
among scholars. "The name is found in the manuscripts of his period spelled 



2 SHAKESPEARE. 

not modified by the customs of particular places, unpractised by 
the rest of the world ; by the peculiarities of studies or profes- 
sions, which can operate but upon small numbers ; or by the ac- 
cidents of transient fashions or temporary opinions : they are the 
genuine progeny of common humanity, such as the world will 
always supply and observation will always find. His persons 
act and speak by the influence of those general passions and 
principles by which all minds are agitated and the whole sys- 
tem of life is continued in motion. In the writings of other 
poets a character is too often an individual ; in those of Shake- 
speare it is commonly a species. 

2. It is from this wide extension of design that so much in- 
struction is derived. It is this which fills the plays of Shakespeare 
with practical axioms and domestic wisdom. It was said of Eu- 
ripides that every verse was a precejDt \ and it may be said of 
Shakespeare that from his works may be collected a system of 
civil and economical prudence. Yet his real power is not shown 
in the splendor of particular passages, but by the progress of his 
fable and the tenor of his dialogue ; and he that tries to recom- 
mend him by select quotations will succeed like the pedant in 
Hiei'ocles, who, when he offered his house to sale, carried a brick 
in his pocket as a specimen. 

3. Upon every other stage the universal agent is love, by 
whose power all good and evil are distributed, and every action 
quickened or retarded. But love is only one of many passions ; 
and as it has no great influence upon the sum of life, it has little 
operation in the dramas of a poet who caught his ideas from the 
living world, and exhibited only what he saw before him. He 
knew that any other passion, as it was regular or exorbitant, was 
a cause of happiness or calamity. This, therefore, is the praise 



with all varieties of letters and arrangement of letters which express its sound 
or a semblance of it." On this matter there ai-e two points of interest — first, 
how the poet himself wrcif^ the name, and, secondly, how it was printed under 
his eye. Touching the first point, Sir Frederic Madden has shown that in 
the acknowledged genuine signatures in existence "the poet always wrote his 
name SHAKSPERE." On the other hand, the printers, during his life, and 
in the folio of 1623. spell the name SHAKESPEARE; and this spelling is 
now generally followed, on the theory that the poet thus gave it a sort of for- 
mal recognition. 



JOHNSON'S CHARACTERIZATION OF SHAKESPEARE. 3 

of Shakespeare, that his drama is the mirror of hfe ; that he who 
has mazed his imagination in following the phantoms which 
other writers raise up before him may here be cured of his de- 
lirious ecstasies by reading human sentiments in human lan- 
• guage, by scenes from which a hermit may estimate the transac- 
tions of the world, and a confessor predict the progress of the 
passions. 

4. Shakespeare's plays are not, in the rigorous and critical 
sense, either tragedies or comedies, but compositions of a dis- 
tinct kind ; exhibiting the real state of sublunary nature, which 
partakes of good and evil, joy and sorrow, mingled with endless 
variety of proportion and innumerable modes of combination ; 
and expressing the course of the world, in which the loss of one 
is the gain of another ; in which, at the same time, the reveller 
is hasting to his wine, and the mourner burying his friend ; "in 
which the malignity of one is sometimes defeated by the frolic 
of another, and many mischiefs and many benefits are done 
and hindered without design. 

5. Shakespeare has united the powers of exciting laughter and 
sorrow not only in one mind, but in one composition. Almost 
all his plays are divided between serious and ludicrous charac- 
ters, and, in the successive evolutions of the design, sometimes 
produce seriousness and sorrow, and sometimes levity and laugh- 
ter. That this is a practice contrary to the rules of criticism 
will be readily allowed ; but there is always an appeal open 
from criticism to nature. The end of writing is to instruct ; the 
end of poetry is to instruct by pleasing. That the mingled drama 
may convey all the instruction of tragedy or comedy cannot be 
denied, because it includes both in its alternations of exhibition, 
and approaches nearer than either to the appearance of life, by 
showing how great machinations and slender designs may pro- 
mote or obviate one another, and the high and the low co-oper- 
ate in the general system by unavoidable concatenation. 

6. The force of his comic scenes has suffered little diminution 
from the changes made by a century and a half in manners or 
in words. As his personages act upon principles arising from 
genuine passion, very little modified by particular forms, their 
pleasures and vexations are communicable to all times and to all 
places J they are natural, and therefore durable. The adventi- 



4 SHAKESPEARE. 

tious peculiarities of personal habits are only superficial dyes, 
bright and pleasing for a little while, yet soon fading to a dim 
tinct, without any remains of former lustre. But the discrimina- 
tions of true passion are the colors of nature : they pervade the 
whole mass, and can only perish with the body that exhibits 
them. The accidental compositions of heterogeneous modes 
are dissolved by the chance which combined them ; but the 
uniform simplicity of primitive qualities neither admits increase 
nor suffers decay. The sand heaped by one flood is scattered 
by another ; but the rock always continues in its place. The 
stream of time, which is continually washing the dissoluble fab- 
rics of other poets, passes without injury by the adamant of 
Shakespeare. 



MILTON'S TRIBUTE TO SHAKESPEARE. 

What needs my Shakespeare for his honored bones 

The labor of an age in piled stones. 

Or that his hallowed relics should be hid 

Under a star-ypointing ' pyramid .'' 

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 

What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? 

Thou in our wonder and astonishment 

Hast built thyself a livelong monument : 

For whilst to th' shame of slow-endeavoring art 

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued ^ book 

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, 

Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, 

Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; 

And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie 

That kings for such a tomb would wish to die. 

' Star-ypointing, star-pointing. Tlie y (= Anglo-Saxon ge, the prefix of the 
fast participle) is here wrongly used in combination with 2i present participle. 
^ Uiivalued, invaluable. 



JULIUS CMSAR. 



I.— THE FUNERAL OF JULIUS C^SAR. 

[Introduction. — The passage here given forms the second scene, act iii., 
of Shakespeare's play of Julius Caesar (written about 1600, and first printed in 
1623). The events represented immediately follow the assassination of Caesar, 
B.C. 44. Mark Antony, a friend of Caesar, had been allowed by Brutus and 
Cassius, the leaders of the conspiracy, " to speak at Caesar's funeral." Cassius 
had objected to granting Antony this privilege, lest his words should "move " 
the people ; but Brutus overcame this by proposing that he should himself 
speak first and "show the reason of our Caesar's death." The scene opens 
with the Roman populace clamoring to know this reason.] 
Scene — The Forum in Rome. Present — Brutus and Cassius and a throng of 

Citizens. 

I. 

Citizais. We will be satisfied ;* let us be satisfied. 

jB?'utus. Then follow me, and give me audience,* friends. — 
Cassius, go you into the other street, 
And part the numbers. — 

Those that will hear me speak, let 'em stay here ; 
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ; 
And public reasons shall be rendered 
Of Ceesar's death. 

Notes. — Line i. We . . . satisfied: that j 7. public reasons. . . rendered. " Public 
is, We are determined to receive reasons " = reasons of a public 

a satisfactory explanation of the j nature ; "rendered" = given, 

killing of Csesar. The rhythm makes the word a 

4. part, etc., divide the multitude. ! trisyllable. 



Literary Analysis. — What is the nature of the verse in which this play 
(save in its prose parts) is written ? Ans. It is blank verse. Define (see Def. 
13). — What is the measure ? A71S. The measure is pentameter, consisting of 
five feet of two syllables each, with the accent on the second ; thus — 
Then fol' | low me', | and give' | me au' | dience, friends'. 

1. satisfied. What is the etymology of this word ? (See Glossary.) 

2. audience. Derivation of? What is the distinction between audience (ab- 
stract) and an audience ? 

2, 3. Then follow, etc. Cassius, go, etc. What kind of sentences are these, 
grammatically considered .? (See Def. 54.) 
5. 'em: a contraction of what ? 

* The asterisk [*] in this book always indicates that the word to which it is 
affixed will be found in the Glossary. 



6 SHAKESPEARE. 

First Citizen. I will hear Brutus speak. 

Second Citizen. I will hear Cassias ; and compare their reasons, lo 
When severally we hear them rendered. 

\_Exit*' Cass ins, with some of the Citizens. Brntus goes into the 
pHlpit?\ 

Third Citizen. The noble Brutus is ascended : silence ! 

Brutus. Be patient till the last. 
Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause, and be 
silent, that you may hear ; believe me for mine honor, and have 15 
respect to mine honor, that you may believe ; censure* me in 
your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better 
judge. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 
Ceesar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Cgesar was no less 
than his. If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against 20 
Caesar, this is my answer : Not that I loved Caesar less, but 
that I loved Rome more. Had you rather Csesar were living, 
and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free 
men ? As Csesar loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortu- 
nate, I rejoice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him : but, as 25 



10. and compare: that is, and let us speare's time (as also long after- 

compare, wards) the compound tenses of 

[The "pulpit" here means the ele- verbs of motion were general- 

vated platform called rostrum, ly formed with the auxiliary to 

from which orators addressed 1 be, and not as now with to Iiave. 

the people.] 14. lovers, friends. 

12. is ascended. We should now use the j 16. censure me: that is, judge me, form 
auxiliary has; but in Shake- I an opinion of me. 



Literary Analysis. — 10. and compare. Supply the ellipsis. 

14-32. Romans, conntrymen . . . reply. Is the speech of Brutus that of one 
who. is convinced of the justice of his cause ? Does it, at the same time show 
that he deemed that it would require an effort to convince others of it ? Hence 
what is the tenor of the speech — argumentative or emotional ? May this ac- 
count for its being in prose ? 

14-18. Romans . . . judge. Show the corresponding parts in this balanced 
sentence. (See Def 58, ii.) What words are effectively repeated? What 
synonym is used for " censure .'"' 

24-26. As CsBsar . . . him. What is the figure of speech in this sentence.'' 
See Def. 33.) What subsequent sentence has the same figure "i 



JULIUS CAESAR. 7 

he was ambitious,* I slew him. There is tears for his love ; joy 
for his fortmie ; honor for his valor ; and death for his am- 
bition. Who is here so base that would be a bondman ? If 
any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude* 
that would not be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have 1 30 
offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country ? 
If any, speak ; for him have I offended. I pause for a reply. 

AIL None, Brutus, none. 

Brutus. Then none have I offended. I have done no more 
to Csesar than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his 35 
death is enrolled in the Capitol ; his glory not extenuated * 
wherein he was worthy, nor his offences enforced for which he 
suffered death. 

Enter Antony and others, with Cesar's body. 

Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : who, though 
he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dy-40 
ing, a place in the commonwealth ; as which of you shall not ? 
With this I depart — thatj as I slew my best lover for the good 



29. rude, barbarous. 

35, 36. The question • . . enrolled = the 

matter of his death (as far as 
calling for official explanation) 
is registered. 

37. enforced, overstated, exaggerated. 

41. as which of you, etc. Brutus here 



insinuates that they had been 
deprived of their independence 
under the tyranny of Caesar, but 
that now they should have their 
full rights, their " place in the 
commonwealth." 
42. my best lover = him I loved best. 



Literary Analysis. — 26. ambitious. What is the literal meaning of this 
word ? — There is. The construction " there is " followed by a plural or by 
several subjects occurs frequently in Shakespeare, but it is not authorized by 
modern grammatical rule. 

29-32. Who is here . . . offended. Suppose these three interrogatories had 
been united in one, would they have been as effective as they are now ? Try 
this arrangement and compare. 

30. him have I, etc. Is this the direct or the rhetorical order? (See Def. 45.) 
What is the result ? 

[Give the derivation of "censure" (16); how does its Shakespearian differ 
from its modern meaning ? Etymology of " rude " (29) ? Of " extenuate " 
(36)?] 



8 



SHAKESPEARE. 



of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself when it shall please 
my country to need my death. 

All. Live, Brutus ! live, live ! 

First Citizen. Bring him with triumph home unto his house. 

Second Citizen. Give him a statue with his ancestors. 

Third Citizen. Let him be Cssar. 

Fonrth Citizen. Caesar's better parts 

Shall be crowned in Brutus. 

Fi7-st Citizen. We'll bring him to his house with shouts and 
clamors. 

Brutus. My countrymen, — 

Second Citizen. Peace, silence ! Brutus speaks. 

Fi7^st Citizen. Peace, ho ! 

Brutus. Good countrymen, let me depart alone, 
And for my sake stay here with Antony. 
Do grace to Csesar's corpse,* and grace his speech 
Tending to Cesar's glories, which Mark Antony, 
By our permission, is allowed to make. 
I do entreat you, not a man depart, 
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. 



\Exit. 



47- a 



statue, etc. Brutus (Marcus Ju- 
nius) was reputed to be a de- 
scendant of the elder Brutus 
(Lucius Junius, about 500 B.C.), 
who expelled Tarquin, and 



thus ended kingly rule in 

Rome. 
58. Do g:race = do honor. 
61. not ... depart: that is, let not a 

man depart. 



Literary Analysis. — 43. I have the same dagger, etc. From what does the 
energy of this expression arise? (See Def. 52, ii.) Suppose a general instead 
of a specific term had been used — thus, " A's I slew my best lover for the 
good of Rome, so I am prepared to meet the same fate," etc. — would the ex- 
pression be as energetic? — Did Brutus actually put an end to his life? Under 
what circumstances? (Consult Roman History.) 

58. corpse. Give the derivation of this word, and explain its meaning. 
What was the form of the word in Shakspeare's time ? (See Glossary.) What 
is another modern form of this word ? 

62. Save I alone. This is an irregular construction, since "save," whether 
regarded as a verb imperative (which it is in origin) or as a preposition (which 
it is in use), requires its object in the objective case.' — spoke, curtailed form 
(common in Shakespeare) for spoken. 



^ Abbott {S/takespearian Grammar, p. 81) suggests that "save seems to be 
used for sat'ed" — / being the nominative absolute. 



JULIUS C^SAR. 9 

II. 

First Citizen. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony. 

Third Citizen. Let him go up into the pubhc chair ; 
We'll hear him. — Noble Antony, go up. 65 

Antony. For Brutus' sake, I am beholding* to you. \Goes up. 

Fourth Citizen. What does he say of Brutus ? 

Third Citizen. He says, for Brutus' sake, 

lie finds himself beholding to us all. 

Fourth Citizen. 'Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here. 7° 

First Citizen. This Caesar was a tyrant. 

Third Citizen. Nay, that's certain : 

\Ve're blessed that Rome is rid of him. 

Third Citizen. Peace ! let us hear what Antony can say. 

Antony. You gentle Romans — 75 

Citizens. Peace, ho ! let us hear him. 

Antony. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears : 
1 come to bury Csesar, not to praise him. 
The evil that men do lives after them, 

The good is oft interred * with their bones ; 80 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious. 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault, — 



64. public chair: that is, the "pulpit," I 81. So let it be with Caesar: that is, let 
or rostrum, from which Brutus his goodness be buried with 

had spoken. [ him, and not made the theme 

66. beholding, beholden, obliged. j of my praise. 



Literary Analysis. — 77. Friends, Romans, etc. In this speech, the aim 
of Antony (unlike that of Brutus) was to move the feelings of his audience. 
But it was necessary for him to do so covertly ; for when he obtained permis- 
sion to speak, he was, by Brutus, placed under this limitation — 

"You sliall not in your funeral speech blame us." 
Considering the delicacy of the task, what do you think of the speech.'' Give 
reasons for your opinion. 

77. lend me your ears. What figure of speech .' (See Def 29.) Change into 
plain language. 

78. I come to bury CiBsar, etc. What figure of speech ? (See Def. 18.) 
79,80. lires ... is interred. What is the figure of speech.' (See Def 18.) — 

Give the derivation oi bttei-. 



lO SHAKESPEARE. 

And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest — 

For Brutus is an honorable man ; 

So are they all, all honorable men — ' 

Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : 

But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 

Whose ransoms did the general coffers * fill : 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept : 

Ambition should be made of sterner stufE. 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 

And Brutus is an honorable man. 

You all did see that on the Lupercal 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown. 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 

And, sure, he is an honorable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke. 

But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once, not without cause ; 

What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him .'' 

O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason !— Bear with me ; 



84. answered it: that is, answered for 

it, atoned for it. 
88. in, at. 

93. generiil coffers, the public treasury. 
99. on the Lupercal. The festival of the 

Lupercalia, one of the most an- 



cient Roman festivals, was held 
every year on the 15th of Feb- 
ruary in the Licpei-cal, a cave or 
grotto where Romulus and Re- 
mus were said to have been nur- 
tured bv the she-wolf. 



Literary Analysis. — 86. honorable. What is the figure of speech ? (See 
Def. 26.) Point out subsequent uses of the word, and show how the irony in- 
creases. 

94. Did this, etc. What is the effect of using the interrogative form here ? 
Point out another instance of its use in the same speech. 

108. Remark on the expression "brutish beasts." 



JULIUS CyESAR. u 

My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

First Citizen. Methinks * there is much reason in his sayings. 

Second Citizen. If thou consider rightly of the matter, 
Csesar has had great wrong. 

Thi?'d Citizen. Has he, masters .'' 

I fear there will a worse come in his place. 

Fourth Citizen. Marked ye his words ? He would not take 
the crown ; 
Therefore 'tis certain he was not ambitious. 

First Citizen. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. 

Second Citizen. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with weep- 
ing. 

Third Citizen. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Antony. 

Fourth Citizen. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. 

Antony. But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

masters ! if I were disposed to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honorable men. 

I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose 

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you. 

Than I will wrong such honorable men. 

But here's a parchment with the seal of Cffisar — 

I found it in his closet — 'tis his will : 

Let but the commons hear this testament* 



112. Methinks, it appears to me. j 127. so poor = so poor as. 

120. dear abide it: that is, will suffer ' 137. commons, the people, the plebe- 
dearly for it. I ians. 



Literary Analysis. — no. My heart ... in the coffin, etc. What figure of 
speech 1 (See Def. 34.) 

III. I must pause. Why does Antony pause? Contrast the pausing of 
Brutus (32). 

1X2. Methinks. Explain this form. 

113. If thou consider, etc. Analyze this sentence. 

134. Tlian I will wrong. This is a grammatical irregularity ; correspondence 
of terms requires the form than to ivj-ong, etc. 



1 2 SHAKESPEARE. 

(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 

And dip their napkins* in his sacred blood; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory. 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 

Bequeathing it as a rich legacy* 

Unto their issue. 

Fourth Citizen. We'll hear the will. Read it, Mark Antony. 
Citizens. The will, the will ! we will hear Caesar's will. 

Antony. Have patience, gentle friends ; I must not read it : 
It is not meet* you know how Csesar loved you. 
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men ; 
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar, 
It will inflame you, it will make you mad. 
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; 
For, if you should, O, what would come of it ! 

Fourth Citizen. Read the will ! we'll hear it, Antony ; 
You shall read us the will ! Csesar's will ! 

Antony. Will you be patient .'' Will you stay awhile .? 
I have o'ershot myself, to tell you of it. 
I fear I wrong the honorable men 
Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar ; I do fear it. 

Fourth Citizen. They were traitors ! Honorable men ! 

Citizens. The will ! the testament ! 



140. napkins, handkerchiefs. I gone too far, revealed too 

157. o'ershot myself: that is, I have | much. 



Literary Analysis.— Give the etymology of " testament " (137) ; of " nap- 
kins " (140); of "legacy" (143); of " meet " (148). 

142-144. And, (lying-, . . . issue. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 34.) 

146. we will. What is the force of " will V 

148. It is not meet . . . loyed you. Analyze this sentence. 

155. You shall read. What is the force of " shall ?" 

157. I have o'ershot myself. What is the figure of speech .? (See Def. 20.) 
Change into a simile. (See Def. 20, ii.) [In archery the one who was beaten 
in shooting was said to be overshot.'] 

159. Whose daggers have stabbed Cmsar. What makes this form of expression 
extremely energetic } (See Def 52, ii.) Compare with " who have put Csesar 
to death." 



JULIUS C^SAR. 



13 



Second Citizen. They were villains, murderers. The will ! Read 
the will ! 

Antony. You will compel me, then, to read the will ? 
Then make a ring about the corpse of C^sar, ' 165 

And let me show you him that made the will. 
Shall I descend ? And will you give me leave ? 

Citizens. Come down. S^He conies down. 

Second Citizen. Descend. 

Third Citizen. You shall have leave. 170 

Fourth Citizen. A ring ! stand round. 

First Citizen. Stand from the hearse • stand from the body. 

Second Citizen. Room for Antony ! — most noble Antony ! 

Antony. Nay, press not so upon me ; stand far off. 

Several Citizens. Stand back ! room ! bear back ! 17s 

Antony. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, 

That day he overcame the Nervii. 180 

Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through. 
See what a rent the envious Casca made ! 
Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ; 
And as he plucked his cursed steel away, 

Mark how the blood of Ceesar followed it, 1S5 

As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ; 
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel : 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him ! 



1 72. stand from = stand away from. 

175. bear back = get farther back. 

180. the Nervii, a warlike tribe of Gaul, 
whom Csesar defeated in one of 
his most closely contested and 
decisive battles, B.C. 57. 



186. As rushing = as if rushing. 

188. Ciesar's angel: that is, was as in- 
separable from him as his guar- 
dian angel. Craik understands 
it as "simply his best beloved, 
his darlinai." — Rolfe. 



Literary Analysis. — 178. The first time ever. Supply the relative. 
180. That day. What is the grammatical construction of " day .'"' (See 
Swinton's Nezu English G7-ainmm\ § 105, ix. and note.) 



14 



SHAKESPEARE. 



This was the most unkindest cut of all; jgo 

For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, 

Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart; 

And in his mantle muffling up his face. 

Even at the base of Pompey's statue,* 19s 

Which all the while ran blood, great Cffisar fell. 

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down. 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 

O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel 200 

The dint* of pity : these are gracious drops. 

Kind souls, what weep you when you but behold 

Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here. 

Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors. 

First Citizen. O piteous spectacle ! . 205 

Second Citizen. O noble Cssar ! 

Third Citizen. O wof ul day ! 

Fourth Citizen. O traitors, villains ! 

First Citizen. O most bloody sight ! 

Second Citizen. We will be revenged. 210 

Citizens. Revenge — about — seek — burn — fire — kill — slay, — let 
not a traitor live ! 

Antony. Stay, countrymen. 

First Citizen. Peace there ! hear the rioble Antony. 

Second Citizen. We'll hear him, we'll follow him, we'll die with 215 
him. 

195. statue. The word is here pro- I 201. dint, impression, emotion, 
nounced as a trisyllable. I 204. marred with, mangled by. 



Literary Analysis. — Give the etymology of "statue" (195); of "dint" 
(201). 

187. or no. What adverb would now be used? 

190. most unliindest. This is not to be flippantly condemned as a pleonasm; 
for, though contrary to modern usage, the doubling of comparatives and super- 
latives was a common idiom in Shakespeare's time : thus we have the expres- 
sions "more elder," "more better," "most boldest," "most worst," etc., the 
adverbs being intensive. 

211. Ueveng:e . . . slay. Supply the ellipsis. 

215. We'll hear. . . die. Point out the figure. (See Def 83.) What is the 
effect of repeating " we'll ?" 



JULIUS C^SAR. 15 

Antony. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 
They that have done this deed are honorable : 
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, 
That made them do 't ; they're wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts : 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man. 
That love my friend ; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 
For I have neither wit,* nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood : I only speak right on ; 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know ; 
Show you sweet Ceesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, 
And bid them speak for me : but were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Cffisar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 

Citizens. We'll mutiny. 

First Citizen. We'll burn the house of Brutus. 

Third Citizen. Away, then ! come, seek the conspirators.* 

220. griefs, grievances. I 228. wit, intellectual power. 



Literary Analysis. — 217-237. In this speech of twenty-one lines (one 
hundred and eighty-three words), only fourteen words — proper names excepted 
— are of other than Anglo-Saxon origin. (See Def. 49, i.) Point out these ex- 
ceptions. Why does Shakespeare here use so large a proportion of native 
words ? — Point out an example of alliteration (see Def 37) in this speech. 

218. such a sudden flood of mutiny. From what is the metaphor taken? 

221, 222. they're wise . . . answer you. What three words are used ironically? 

223. to steal away your hearts. Change this into plain language. 

224-230. What do you suppose to be Antony's purpose in seeking to make 
the audience think he was "no orator?" 

228. wit. How does " wit " as here used differ from its modern meaning ? 

230. To stir men's blood. Change into plain language. 

235. Would ruffle up your spirits. Explain this expression. 

236, 237. should more The stones, etc. What figure of speech ? (See Def 34.) 
240. conspirators. Give the etymology of this word. 



1 6 SHAKESPEARE. 

Antony. Yet hear me, countrymen ; yet hear me speak. 

Citizens. Peace, ho ! hear Antony ; most noble Antony. 

Antojiy. Why, friends, you go to do yoju know not what. 
Wherein hath Caesar thus deserved your loves .'' 
Alas, you know not : — I must tell you, then. 245 

You have forgot the will I told you of. 

Citizens. Most true ; the will ! — let's stay, and hear the will. 

Antony. Here is the will, and under Ceesar's seal. 
To every Roman citizen he gives, 
To every several man, seventy-five drachmas. 250 

Second Citizen. Most noble Caesar! We'll revenge his death. 

Third Citizen. O royal Cffisar ! 

Antony. Hear me with patience. 

All. Peace, ho ! 

Antony. Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, 255 

His private arbors and new-planted orchards, 
On this side Tiber — he hath left them you. 
And to your heirs forever, common pleasures. 
To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. 
Here was a Caesar ! when comes such another 1 260 

First Citizen. Never, never ! — Come, away, away ! 
We'll burn his body in the holy place. 
And with the brands fire the traitors' houses. 
Take up the body. 

Second Citizen. Go fetch fire. 265 

Third Citizen. Pluck down benches. 

Fourth Citizen. Pluck down forms, windows, anythino-. 

\Exeunt Citizens with the body. 

Antony. Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, 
Take thou what course thou wilt ! 



244. loves. The plural is here used to 
indicate that the feeling was 
■ shared severally by those ad- 
dressed. 
246. have forg-ot. See note to line 62, 



250. seven tj'-five drachmas = thirteen or 
fourteen dollars of our money. 

259. to walk abroad: that is, to walk 
abroad in. 

:63. fire. The word " fire " is here 



"spoke." I pronounced as a dissyllable. 



Literary Analysis.— 266. Pluck down benches, etc. The incidents in the 
play o{ Julius Casar are largely taken from Plutarch's Lives. It is well known 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 17 



II.— TRIAL SCENE FROM THE MERCHANT OF VENICE. 

[Introduction. — The Trial Scene forms the second scene, act iv., of the 
Merchaitt of Venice, first published in 1600. It has always been one of the 
most popular of Shakespeare's comedies, both with readers and audiences — a 
popularity justified by the fact that it stands in the first rank for the almost 
tragic interest of its main plot, for the variety and strongly marked discrimina- 
tion of its characters, and for the sweetness, beauty, and grace that pervade it.] 

Scene — A Court of .Justice. Present — The Duke, the Magnificoes, Antonio, Bas- 
SANio, Gratiano, Salerio, and others. 

I. 

Duke. What, is Antonio here ? 

Antonio. Ready, so please your grace. 

Duke. I am sorry for thee : tliou art come to answer 
A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch 
Uncapable of pity, void and empty 
From any dram of mercy. 

Aiitonio. I have Ireard 

Your grace hath ta'en great pains to qualify 
His rigorous course ; but since he stands obdurate 



Notes. — 2. so please = if it so please. 

5. TJncapalde, incapable. 

5, 6. empty From. Elsewhere Shake- 



speare always uses of, as we do 
with void and empty. 
8. qualify, modify. 



that Shakespeare used this work, for one of the few existing autographs of the 
great poet is found in a copy of Sir Thomas North's translation of Plutarch. 
The following passage from North's text will illustrate what Shakespeare had 
"to go on" in writing fulitts Ccesar : " Afterwards, when Caesar's body was 
brought into the market-place, Antonius making his funeral oration in praise of 
the dead, according to the ancient custom of Rome, and perceiving that his words 
moved the common people to compassion, he framed his eloquence to make 
their hearts yearn the more ; and, taking Caesar's gown all bloody in his hand, 
he laid it open to the sight of them all, showing what a number of cuts and 
holes it had upon it. Therewithal the people fell pi'esently into such a rage 
and mutiny that there was no more order kept amongst the common people. 
For some of them cried out, ' Kill the murtherers !' others plucked up forms, 
tables, and stalls about the market-place, and having laid them all on a heap 
together, they set them on fire, and thereupon did put the body of Caesar, and 
burnt it in the midst of the most holy places. And, furthermore, when the fire 
was throughly kindled, some here, some there, took burning fire-brands, and 
ran with them to the murtherers houses that killed him, to set them on fire." 



i8 SHAKESPEARE. 

And that no lawful means can carry me 
Out of his envy's* reach, I do oppose 
My patience to his fury, and am armed 
To suffer, with a quietness of spirit, 
The very tyranny and rage of his. 

Duke. Go one, and call the Jew into court. 

Salerio. He is ready at the door : he comes, my lord. 

Enter Shylock. 

Duke. Make room, and let him stand before our face. — 
Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too, 
That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice 
To the last hour of act ; and then 'tis thought 
Thou'lt show thy mercy and remorse* more strange 
Than is thy strange apparent cruelty ; 
And where thou now exact'st the penalty. 
Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh. 
Thou wilt not only loose the forfeiture. 
But, touched with human gentleness and love, 
Forgive a moiety* of the principal ; 
Glancing an eye of pity on his losses. 
That have of late so huddled on his back. 
Enow to press a royal merchant down 
And pluck commiseration of his state 
From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint. 
From stubborn Turks and Tartars, never trained 
To ofifices of tender courtesy. 
We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. 

Shylock. I have possessed* your grace of what I purpose. 
And by our holy Sabbath have I sworn 
To have the due and forfeit of my bond. 
If you deny it, let the danger light 



II. his enyy's reach: that is, the reach 

of his malice. 
21. remorse, relenting. 
23. where = whereas. 
25. loose, release. 
30. Enow = enough. 



30. royal, a complimentary term to in- 
dicate the wealth and power of 
Antonio. 

35. gentle. A pun on Gentile is meant 

to be suggested. 

36. possessed, informed. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



19 



Upon your charter and your city's freedom. 

You'll ask me, why I rather choose to have 

A weight of carrion flesh than to receive 

Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that ; 

But, say it is my humor : is it answered ? 

What if my house be troubled with a rat, 

And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 

To have it baned ?* What, are you answered yet? 

Some men there are love not a gaping pig ; 

Some, that are mad if they behold a cat ; 

Some, when they hear the bagpipe : for affection. 

Mistress of passion, sways it to the mood 

Of what it likes or loathes. Now, for your answer : 

As there is no firm reason to be rendered. 

Why he cannot abide a gaping pig ; 

Why he, a harmless necessary cat ; 

Why he, a woollen bagpipe ; but of force 

Must yield to such inevitable shame 

As to offend, himself being offended ; 

So can I give no reason, nor I will not, 

More than a lodged hate and a certain loathing 

I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 

A losing suit against him. Are you answered ? 

Bassanio. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
T' excuse the current of thy cruelty. 

Shylock. I am not bound to please thee with my answers. 

Bassanio. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? 

Shylock. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 

Bassanio. Every offence* is not a hate at first. 

Shylock. What, wouldst thou have a serpent sting thee twice ? 



6s 



44. But, say = but suppose ; humor, 
whim, caprice. 

47. baned, poisoned. 

48. a gaping- pig: that is, a pig's head 

served up on the table. 

50. aflfection. The word here signifies 
emotions produced through the 
senses by external objects. 

53. firm, sound. 



54' 55' 56- lie . . . he . . . he: one, an- 
other, another. 

59. nor I will not. Observe the double 
negative, a common idiom in 
Shakespeare's time. 

61. that I follow = why I follow. 

64. current, course. 

68. offence. The word here means the 
state of being offended. 



SHAKESPEARE. 



Antonio. I pray you, think you question witli tlie Jew : 
You may as well go stand upon the beach 
And bid the main flood bate his usual height ; 
You may as well use question with the wolf 
Why he hath made the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 
You may as well forbid the mountain pines 
To wag their high tops and to make no noise, 
When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven ; 
You may as well do anything most hard, 
As seek to soften that — than which what's harder ? — 
His Jewish heart : therefore, I do beseech you. 
Make no more offers, use no farther means, 
But with all brief and plain conveniency 
Let me have judgment and the Jew his will. 

Bassanio. For thy three thousand ducats here is six. 

Shylock. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 
Were in six parts and every part a ducat, 
I would not draw them — I would have my bond. 

Duke. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none ? 

Shylock. What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong.-' 

The pound of flesh, which I demand of him, 

Is dearly bought ; 'tis mine and I will have it. 

If you deny me, fie upon your law ! 

There is no force in the decrees of Venice. 

I stand for judgment : answer ; shall I have it ? 

Duke. Upon my power I may dismiss this court, 
Unless Bellario, a learned doctor. 
Whom I have sent for to determine this. 
Come here to-day. 



85 



70. think you question : that is, remem- 
ber that you are arguing. 

72. main Hood, high tide ; bate, abate. 

76. to make no noise. As this phrase 
also is under the government 
of " forbid," it expresses just 
the opposite of what is meant, 
and is, therefore, a grammatical 
slip ; but Shakespeare, like a 



certain Polish monarch, might 
claim to be a king above gram- 
mar [i-ex stifer grammaticam). 

77. fretten, fretted ; that is, shaken. 

83. judgment. The word is here used 
in its legal sense ol sentence. 

95- Upon my power = on my author!- 

ty- 

97. determine, decide. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Salerio. My lord, here stays without 

A messenger with letters from the doctor. 
New come from Padua. 

Duke. Bring us the letters ; call the messenger. 

******** 

Enter Nerissa, dressed like a lawyer's clerk. 

Duke. Came you from Padua, from Bellario ? 

Nerissa. From both, my lord. Bellario greets your grace. 

\_Presenting a letter. 

Bassanio. Why dost thou whet thy knife so earnestly ? 

Shy lock. To cut the forfeiture from that bankrupt there. 

Gratiano. Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew, 
Thou mak'st thy knife keen ; but no metal can, 
No, not the hangman's axe, bear half the keenness 
Of thy sharp envy. Can no prayers pierce thee? 

Shy lock. No, none that thou hast wit* enough to make. 
-******** 

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend 
A young and learned doctor to our court. 
Where is he ? 

Nerissa. He attendeth here hard by. 

To know your answer, whether you'll admit him. 

Duke. With all mv heart. Some three or four of you 
Go give him courteous conduct to this place. 

11. 

Enter Portia, dressed like a doctor of laws. 
Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario ? 

Portia. I did, mv lord. 

Duke. You are welcome ; take your place. 

Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court .'' 



107. sole . . . soul. Notice the play on 

words. 
109. hangman. The word is here used 

in a generic sense for execution- 



III. wit, sense, sharpness. 

115. attendeth, waits. 

122, 123. the difference Th.at holds, etc. : 
the dispute that is the subject 
of the present discussion. 



SHA KESPEA RE. 



Fortia. I am informed throughly of the cause. 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? '25 

Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

Portia. Is your name Shylock ? 

Shylock. Shylock is my name. 

Portia. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ; 
Yet in such rule that the Venetian law ^30 

Cannot impugn* you as you do proceed. — 
You stand within his danger, do you not 1 [To Antonio. 

Anto7iio. Ay, so he says. 

Do you confess the bond t 
I do. 135 

Then must the Jew be merciful. 
On what compulsion must I ? Tell me that. 

Portia. The quality of mercy is not strained. 
It droppeth as the gentle ram from heaven 

Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blest — 140 

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes ; 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown ; 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, i4s 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway ; 
It is enthrone'd in the hearts of kings. 
It is an attribute to God himself ; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 15° 



Portia. 
Antonio. 
Portia. 
Shylock. 



12A,. throughly — thoroughly. 

130. in such rule, etc. " So strictly ac- 
cording to form that the law can 
detect no flaw in your proced- 
ure." — Wright : Merchant of 
Venice. 

132. within his danger: that is, within 
his power to harm you. 

137. must I? "Must, as used by Por- 
tia in the preceding line, refers 
only to what is becoming, what 
might be expected. Shylock 
adopts her words, but in a more 



absolute sense — that o{ compiil- 
sio7i. Portia rebukes him for 
thus connecting compulsion with 
mercy. 

' The quality of mercy is not strained.' 

And this reproof strikes the key- 
note of the famous speech which 
follows." — D.\LGLEISH : Mer- 
chant of Venice. 

140. twice blest, doubly blest. 

144. shows, symbolizes. 

150. show, appear. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this. 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much 
To mitigate the justice of \kvj plea, 
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

Shylock. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law. 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Portia. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Bassanio. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court ; 
Yea, twice the sum. If that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart. 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you. 
Wrest* once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong, 
And curb this cruel devil of his will. 

Portia. It must not be. There is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent, 
And many an error by the same example 
Will rush into the state. It cannot be. 

Shylock. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! 
O wise young judge, how I do honor thee ! 

Portia. I pray you, let me look upon the bond. 

Shylock. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

Portia. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee. 

Shylock. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven. 



23 



165 



155- that same prayer: that is, the pe- 
tition "forgive us our debts," 
etc. 

156. spoke, spoken, 

158. which if thou follow: that is, if you 
persist in adhering to the laiv 



of your plea. " Which " is the 
object of follow. 
162. discharge the money: that is, the 
money dtie, the debt. 

168. truth, honor, honesty. 

169. Wrest, turn aside. 



24 



SHAKESPEARE. 



Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? 
No, not for Venice. 

Portia. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart. — Be merciful : 
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond. 

Shylock. Wlxen it is paid according to the tenor. 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you by the law, 
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment. By my soul I swear 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me : I stay here on my bond. 

Antonio. Most heartily I do beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

Portia. Why, then, thus it is : 

You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

Shylock. O noble judge ! O excellent young man ! 

Portia. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty 
Which here appeareth clue upon the bond. 

Shylock. 'Tis very true : O wise and upright judge ! 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

Portia. Therefore lay bare your bosom. 

Shylock. Ay, his breast : 

So says the bond — doth it not, noble judge ? — 
" Nearest his heart :" those are the very words. 

Portia. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
The fl[esh ? 

Shylock. I have them ready. 

Portia. Have by some surgeon,* Shylock, on your charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 



1 8s 



204. Hath full relation : that is, is fully 

applicable. 
207. more elder. See note, page 14, 

line 190. 
212. Are there balance. "Balance" is 



here treated as a plural, per- 
haps because a balance consists 
of a pair of scales. 

215. on your charge, at your expense. 

216. do bleed: subjunctive mood. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



25 



Shylock. Is it so nominated in the bond? 

Portia. It is not so expressed j but what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

Shylock. I cannot find it ; 'tis not in the bond. 

Portia. You, mercliant, laave you anytliing to say ? 

Antonio. But little : I am armed and well prepared. — 
Give me your hand, Bassanio. Fare you well ! 
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ; 
For herein Fortune shows herself more kind 
Than is her custom : it is still her use 
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth, 
To view with hollow eye and wrinkled brow 
An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance 
Of such misery doth she cut me off. 
Commend me to your honorable wife ; 
Tell her the process of Antonio's end ; 
Say how I loved you, speak me fair in death ; 
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge 
Whether Bassanio had not once a love. 
Repent but you that you shall lose your friend, 
And he repents not that he pays your debt ; 
For if the Jew do cut but deep enough, 
I'll pay it presently with all my heart. 

Bassanio. Antonio, I am married to a wife 
Which is as dear to me as life itself ; 
But life itself, my wife, and all the world. 
Are not with me esteemed above thy life : 
I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all 
Here to this devil, to deliver you. 

Portia. Your wife would give you little thanks for that. 
If she were by, to hear you make the offer. 

Gratiano. I have a wife, whom, I protest, I love : 



226. it is still her use, it is ever her 

custom. 
230. misery. Accent thus : miser y- 
233. speak me fair, speak well of me. 
235. lore, lover, dear friend; that is, 

Antonio himself. 



236. Repent but you: that is, if, only, 
you regret, etc. 

239. pi-esently, immediately. 

241. Which: ioxwho. In Shakespeare's 
time, which was applicable to 
persons as well as to things. 



26 SHAKESPEARE. 

I would she were in heaven, so she could 

Entreat some power to change this currish Jew. 25° 

Nerissa. 'Tis well you offer it behind her back ; 
The wish would make else an unquiet house. 

Shylock. [Aside] These be the Christian husbands. I have a 
daughter ; 
Would any of the stock of Barrabas 255 

Had been her husband rather than a Christian ! — 
[Aloud] We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence ! 

Poi'tia. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine. 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

Shylock. Most rightful judge ! 260 

Portia. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast. 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shylock. Most learne'd judge ! A sentence ! Come, prepare ! 

Po?'tia. Tarry a little ; there is something else. 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ; 265 

The words expressly are " a pound of flesh :" 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate 270 

Unto the state of Venice. 

Gratiano. O upright judge ! — Mark, Jew : — O learned judge ! 

Shylock. Is that the law ? 

Portia. Thyself shalt see the act : 

For, as thou urgest justice, be assured 275 

Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

Gratiano. O learned judge ! — Mark, Jew : — a learned judge ! 

Shylock. I take this offer, then : pay the bond thrice 
And let the Christian go. 

Bassanio. Here is the money. 280 

Portia. Soft! 
The Jew shall have all justice ; soft ! — no haste : — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

Gratiano. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 

Portia. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 285 



270. confiscate, confiscated. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



27 



Shed thou no blood, nor cut thou less nor more 

But just a pound of flesh. If thou cutt'st more 

Or less than a just pound, be it but so much 

As makes it light or heavy in the substance, 

Or the division of the twentieth part 

Of one poor scruple — nay, if the scale do turn 

But in the estimation of a hair — 

Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 

Gratiano. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 
Now, infidel, I have you on the hip. 

Po7'tia. Why doth the Jew pause ? — ^Take thy forfeiture. 

Shy lock. Give me my principal, and let me go. 

Bassanio. I have it ready for thee • here it is. 

Portia. He hath refused it in the open court : 
He shall have merely justice and his bond. 

Gratiano. A Daniel, still say I, a second Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

Shylock. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 

Portia. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shylock. Why, then the devil give him good of it ! 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Portia. Tarry, Jew. 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, 
If it be proved against an alien 
That by direct or indirect attempts 
He seek the life of any citizen. 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke only, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st ; - 



j88. a just pound, an exact pound. 
289. in the substance, in the gross 

weight. 
295. on the hip. This expression is 



taken from the language of 
wrestling ; it indicates the mas- 
tery which one of the wrestlers 
has over the other. 



28 



SHAKESPEARE. 



For it appears, by manifest proceeding", 
That indirectly and directly too 
Thou hast contrived against the very life 
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurred 
The danger formerly by me rehearsed. 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 

Gi-atiano. Beg that thou mayst have leave to hang thyself. 
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state. 
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ; 
Therefore thou must be hanged at the state's charge. 

Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirits, 
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it. 
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ; 
The other half comes to the general state, 
Which humbleness may drive unto a fine. 
Portia. Ay, for the state, not for Antonio. 
Shy lock. Nay, take my life and all ; pardon not that : 
You take my house when you do take the prop 
That doth sustain my house ; you take my life 
When you do take the means whereby I live. 

Portia. What mercy can you render him, Antonio .' 
Gratiano. A halter gratis ;* nothing else, for God's sake. 
Antonio. So please my lord the duke and all the court 
To quit the fine for one half of his goods, 
I am content, so he will let me have 
The other half in use, to render it. 
Upon his death, unto the gentleman 
That lately stole his daughter : 
Two things provided more, that, for this favor, 
He presently become a Christian ; 
The other, that he do record a gift. 
Here in the court, of all he dies possessed, 
Unto his son Lorenzo and his dausfhter. 



334. Iiunibleness m.ay drive : that is, 
humility may change or com- 
mute. 

336. pardon not that = spare not that. 



344. so, provided. 

351. of all he dies possessed: that is, of 
all that of which he dies pos- 
sessed. 



MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



29 



Duke. He shall do this, or else I do recant* 
The pardon that I late pronounced here. 

Portia. Art thou contented, Jew ? what dost thou say t 355 

Shylock. I am content. 

Portia. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. 

Shylock. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence ; 
I am not well. Send the deed after me. 
And I will sign it. • 360 

Duke. Get thee gone, but do it. 

Gratiano. In christening shalt thou have two godfathers. 
Had I been judge, thou shouldst have had ten more. 
To bring thee to the gallows, not the font. \Exit Shylock. 

Duke. Sir, I entreat you home with me to dinner. 365 

Portia. I humbly do desire your grace of pardon : 
I must away this night toward Padua, 
And it is meet I presently set forth. 

Duke. I am sorry that your leisure serves you not. 
Antonio, gratify this gentleman, 370 

For, in my mind, you are much bound to him. 

\Exeunt Duke and his train. 

Bassanio. Most worthy gentleman, I and my friend 
Have by your wisdom been this day acquitted 
Of grievous penalties ; in lieu whereof, 

Three thousand ducats, due unto the Jew, 375 

We freely cope* your courteous pains withal. 

Antonio. And stand indebted, over and above, 
Tn love and service to you evermore. 

Po7-tia. He is well paid that is well satisfied ; 
And I, delivering you, am satisfied, 380 

And therein do account myself well paid : 
My mind was never yet more mercenary.* 
I pray you, know me when we meet again : 
I wish you well, and so I take my leave. 



353. rcoant, revoke. 

356. late = lately. 

363. ten more : making up the twelve 

jurymen who should hang 

him. 



366. your grace of pardon = pardon of 

your grace. 
376. cope, requite ; mtlial = with. 
382. more mercenary, anxious for any 

more reward. 



II. 

FRANCIS BACON. 

1561-1626. 




•^imt^ 



THREE CRITICS ON BACON'S ESSAYS. 

I. 

It is by the Essays that Bacon is best known to the multitude. 
The Novum Organum and the De Aiigmentis are much talked of, 
but little read. They have produced indeed a vast effect on the 



THREE CRITICS ON BACON'S ESSAYS. 



31 



opinion of mankind ; but they have produced it through the op- 
eration of intermediate agents. They have moved the intellects 
which have moved the world. It is in the Essays alone that the 
mind of Bacon is brought into immediate contact with the minds 
of ordinary readers. There, he opens an exoteric school, and he 
talks to plain men, in language which everybody understands, 
about things in which everybody is interested. He has thus en- 
abled those who must otherwise have taken his merits on trust 
to judge for themselves ; and the great body of readers have, 
during several generations, acknowledged that the man who has 
treated with such consummate ability questions with which they 
are familiar may well be supposed to deserve all the praise be- 
stowed on him by those who have sat in his inner school. — Ma- 

CAULAY. 

II. 

Bacon's sentences bend beneath the weight of his thought like 
a branch beneath the weight of its fruit. He seems to have writ- 
ten his Essays with Shakespeare's pen. He writes like one on 
whom presses the weight of affairs, and he approaches a subject 
always on its serious side. He does not play with it fantas- 
tically. He lives among great ideas as with great nobles, with 
whom he dare not to be too familiar. In the tone of his mind 
there is ever something imperial. When he writes on buildings, 
he speaks ' of a palace, with spacious entrances, and courts, and 
banqueting-halls ; when he writes on gardens, he speaks of alleys 
and mounts, waste places and fountains — of a garden "which is 
indeed prince-like." To read over his table of contents is like 
reading over a roll of peers' names. We have taken them as 
they stand : " Of Great Place," " Of Boldness," " Of Goodness, 
and Goodness of Nature," "Of Nobility," "Of Seditions and 
Troubles," "Of Atheism," "Of Superstition," " Of Travel," "Of 
Empire," " Of Counsel " — a book, plainly, to lie in the closets of 
statesmen and princes, and designed to nurture the noblest nat- 
ures, — Alexander Smith. 

III. 

I am old-fashioned enough to admire Bacon, whose remarks 
are taken in and assented to by persons of ordinary capacity. 



32 



BACON. 



and seem nothing very profound. But when a man comes to re- 
flect and observe, and his faculties enlarge, he then sees more in 
them than he did at first, and more still as he advances farther — 
his admiration of Bacon's profundity increasing as he himself 
grows intellectually. Bacon's wisdom is like the seven-league 
boots, which would fit the giant or the dwarf, except only that 
the dwarf cannot take the same stride in them. — Archbishop 
Whately. 



BACON'S ESSAYS. 

[Introduction. — The first edition of the Essays was published in 1597, at 
the very time when Shakespeare was doing his greatest work. They were only 
ten in number, but Bacon subsequently added to these, making in all fifty-eight 
essays in the edition published in 1625, the year before his death. In the 
dedication of this edition, Bacon says ; " I do now publish my Essays, which, 
of all my other works, have been most current — for, as it seems, they come home 
to melt's business and bosoms." 

It should be noted that the word essay has considerably changed its appli- 
cation since the days of Bacon. The word then bore its original sense of a 
slight suggestive sketch (French essayer, to try, or attempt), whereas it is now 
commonly employed to denote an elaborate and finished composition.] 

I.— OF STUDIES. 

I. Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for abilit)?. 
Their chief use for delight is in privateness* and retiring;* for 
ornament, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in the judgment and 
disposition of business. For expert * men can execute, and per- 



NOTES. — Line i. delight, pleasure, pas- 
time ; ornanieiit, the adornment 
of conversation ; ability, execu- 
tive skill. 



2. priTateness, privacy ; retiring, retire- 
ment. 
4. expert men: that is, men of 7)iere 

exjDerience. 



Literary Analysis. — The following words in this Essay are used by Ba- 
con in a sense different from their modern meaning : explain this difference — 
"humor" (10); "crafty" (15); "simple" (15); "admire" (15); "curious- 
ly" (23); "witty" (34). 

What are the modern forms of the words "privateness" (2) and "retiring" 
(2)? 

The following words are obsolete — define them : " proyning " (12) ; " stond " 
(37). 

I. Studies serve, etc. What three adverbial phrases are adjuncts to " serve ?" 

2-7. Their chief use . . . learned. Supply the ellipses in this sentence. 



BACON'S ESSAYS. 



33 



haps judge of particulars, one by one ; but the general counsels, 5 
and the plots and marshalling of affairs, come best from those 
that are learned. 

2. To spend too much time in studies is sloth, to use them 
too much for ornament is affectation, to make judgment wholly 
by their rules is the humor* of a scholar. They perfect nature, 10 
and are perfected by experience — for natural abilities are like 
natural plants, that need proyning* by study; and studies them- 
selves do give forth directions too inuch at large, except they be 
bounded in by experience. 

3. Crafty* men contemn studies, simple* men admire* them, 15 
and wise men use them ; for they teach not their own use— but 
that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observa- 
tion. Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and 
take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse ; but to weigh 
and consider. 20 

4. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and 
some few to be chewed and digested : that is, some books are to 



9. to make judgment = to give judg- 
ment. 
10. humor, disposition, habit, whim. 
12. proyiiing, pruning. 
15. crafty men. " Cj-afty men " here 



signifies merely practical men ; 
simple, unlearned ; admire, 
vaguely wonder at. 
17. ivithout them: that is, outside of 
them, beyond them. 



Literary Analysis. — Note the expression, "the general counsels, and the 
plots and marshalling of affairs " — an expression having that over-arching 
quality which we think of as specifically Shakespearian. 

8-10. To spend . . . scholar. What kind of sentence grammatically ? How 
many members (independent propositions) ? What grammatical element 
(word, phrase, or clause) is the subject of each ? 

13. except. What conjunction should we now use ? 

I5~36- Crafty men . . . contend. Macaulay, in his essay on Lord Bacon, quotes 
this passage, and adds : " It will hardly be disputed that this is a passage to 
be ' chewed and digested.' We do not believe that Thucydides himself has 
anywhere compressed so much thought into so small a space." 

18-20. Read not . . . consider. What is the figure of speech in this sentence ? 
(See Def. 18.) With what is " (read) to weigh and consider" contrasted.'' 

21, 22. tasted . . . STvallowed . . . chewed . . . digested. Are these expressions 
literal or metaphorical ? Explain, from the latter part of the sentence, what 
is meant by "tasted;" by "swallowed;" by "chewed and digested." 

3 



34 



BACON. 



be read only in parts ; others to be read, but not curiously,* and , 
some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. 
Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of 25 
them by others ; but that would be only in the less important ar- 
guments, and the meaner sort of books ; else distilled books are, _ 
like common distilled waters, flashy things. 

5. Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and 
writing an exact man. And therefore, if a man write little, he 30 
had need have a great memory ; if he confer little, he had nee'd 
have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much 
cunning to seem to know that he doth not. 

6. Histories make men wise ; poets, witty ;* the mathematics, 
subtle; natural philosophy, deep ; moral, grave ; logic and rhet-35 
oric, able to contend. Abeimt studia in 7iwres [manners are in- 
fluenced by studies]. Nay, there is no stoncl* or impediment* 
in the wit but may be wrought out by fit studies, like as dis- 
eases of the body may have appropriate exercises. Bowling is 
good for the reins ; shooting, for the lungs and breast ; gentle 40 
wa,lking, for the stomach; riding, for the head; and the like. 



23. curiously, with scrupulous care. 
(In place of the expression " not 
curiously," an early edition of 
the Essay has the word cursori- 
ly.) 

26. would = should. 

28. flasliy, vapid, insipid. 

29. conference, conversation. 



32. present, ready. 

33. th.at = what. 

34. witty, bright, quick-witted. 

35- moral: that is, moral philosophy. 

37. stond, hindrance. 

38. wrought out = worked out, got rid 

of. 
40. reins, kidneys, inward parts. 



Literary Analysis. — 29-33. Beading' maketh . . . not. What is the figure 
of speech here ? (See Def. 18.) This is a fine example of antithesis in the 
form sometimes OiWed J>ariso7i, or isocolon, in which arrangement the parts of 
the sentence follow in a series of corresponding elements. Thus, in this sen- 
tence, the first three propositions (members) are alike, word corresponding 
with word, and then follow three more members (complex propositions) in 
which clause (dependent proposition) corresponds with clause, and principal 
proposition with principal proposition. Point out the corresponding and the 
contrasting parts. 

34-36. Histories . , . contend. This sentence presents an example of the same 
figure as in the previous sentence. Point out the corresponding parts. 

38. like as diseases, etc. What is the figure of speech in this sentence.'' 
(See Def 19.) Should we now use "like?" 



BACON'S ESSAYS. 



35 



So, if a man's wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics : 
for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, 
he must begin again. If his wit be not apt to distinguish or 
find differences, let him study the schoolmen, for they are ri^-45 
mini sectores [hair-splitters']. If he be not apt to beat over mat- 
ters, and to call up one thing to prove and illustrate another, let 
him study the lawyers' cases. So every defect of the mind may 
have a special receipt. 



II.— OF FRIENDSHIP. 

I. It had been hard for him that spake it to have put more 
truth and untruth together in few. words than in that speech, 
"Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a 
god." For it is most true that a natural and secret hatred and 
aversation towards society in any man hath somewhat of the sav- 5 
age beast ; but it is most untrue that it should have any char- 
acter at all of the divine nature, except it proceed, not out of a 
pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire to sequester a 
man's self for a higher conversation, such as is found to have 
been falsely and feignedly in some of the heathen — as Epimeni- 10 



45. differences, distinctions. 

45. the schoolmen. The name "school- 

men" is applied to the philoso- 
phers and divines of the Middle 
Ages, who spent much time on 
nice points of abstract specula- 
tion. 

46. apt to beat over matters: that is, 

skilled in considering matters 
from various points of view. 



I. him that spake it. Aristotle, the 
Greek philosopher, is the au- 
thor of this sentiment. 

5- aversation towards = aversion to. 



7. except, unless. 

8, 9. to sequester . . . conversation : that 

is, to seclude himself for the 
sake of following a higher course 
of life. The word " conversa- 
tion " formerly signified habit 
of life, and in this meaning it is 
often employed in the Bible : 
thus in Psa. xxxvii. 14 ; Phil. i. 
27 ; r Peter iii. i, 16. 
ID. Epimen'ides, a poet and prophet of 
Candia or Crete. After his 
death he was revered as a god 
by the Athenians on account of 
the many useful counsels he had 
given. 



* Cyinini sectores is literally splitters of cummin, one of the smallest of 
seeds. 



36 BACON. 

des the Candian, Numa the Roman, Empedocles the Sicilian, and 
Apollonius of Tyana, — and truly and really in divers of the an- 
cient hermits and holy fathers of the Church. 

2. But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it 
extendeth ; for a crowd is not company, and faces are but a 15 
gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there 
is no love. The Latin adage meeteth with it a little. Magna civi- 
tas, magna solitudo [a great city is a great solitude], — because in a 
great town friends are scattered, so that there is not that fellow- 
ship, for the most part, which is in less neighborhoods. But we 20 
may go further, and affirm most truly that it is a mere * and mis- 
erable solitude to want true friends, without which the world is 
but a wilderness ; and even in this sense also of solitude, who- 
soever in the frame of his nature and affections is unfit for 
friendship, he taketh it of the beast, and not from humanity. 25 

3. A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and discharge of 
the fulness and swellings of the heart, which passions of all 
kinds do cause and induce. We know diseases of stoppings and 
suffocations are the most dangerous in the body ; and it is not 
much otherwise in the mind. You may take sarza to open the 30 
liver, steel to open the spleen, flowers of sulphur for the lungs, 
castoreum for the brain ; but no receipt openeth the heart but a 
true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, 
suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to op- 
press it, in a kind of civil shrift or confession. 35 

4. It is a strange thing to observe how high a rate great kings 
and monarchs do set upon this fruit of friendship whereof we 
speak — so great as they purchase it many times at the hazard of 



II. Nu'ma, second king of Rome (B.C. 
715-672). He encouraged the 
belief ihat he received Iielp in his 
administration from the nymph 
Egeria. — Emped'ocles, a Sicilian 
philosopher, historian, and poet. 
It is recorded that he wished 
it to be believed that he was 
a god ; and, that his death 
might be unknown, he threw 
himself into the crater of 
Mount ^tna. 



12. Apollo'iiius, a Pythagorean philoso- 
pher who flourished during the 
reigns of Vespasian and Domi- 
tian. 

17- meeteth with it : that is, corresponds 
with it. 

21. mere, absolute. 

25. humanity, human nature. 

30. sarza, sarsaparilla. 

32. castoreum, a substance found in the 
body of the beaver {castor). 

38. so great as ~ so great that. 



BACON'S ESSAYS. 



37 



their own safety and greatness. For princes, in regard of the 
distance of their fortune from that of their subjects and ser-40 
vants, cannot gather this fruit except (to make themselves capa- 
ble thereof) they raise some persons to be, as it were, compan- 
ions and almost equals to themselves, which many times* sorteth 
to inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such per- 
sons the name of favorites, or privadoes, as if it were matter of 45 
grace or conversation ; but the Roman name attaineth the true 
use and cause thereof, naming them participes cwartim [sharers 
in cares], for it is that which tieth the knot. And we see plainly 
that this hath been done, not by weak and passionate princes 
only, but by the wisest and most politic that ever reigned ; who s° 
have oftentimes joined to themselves some of their servants, 
whom both themselves have called friends, and allowed others 
likewise to call them in the same manner, using the word which 
is received between private men. 

5. L. Sylla, when he commanded Rome, raised Pompey (after 55 
surnamed the Great) to that height that Pompey vaunted him- 
self for Sylla's overmatch.* For when he had carried the consul- 
ship for a friend of his, against the pursuit of Sylla, and that 
Sylla did a little resent thereat and began to speak great, Pom- 
pey turned upon him again, and in effect bade him be quiet, 60 
"for that more men adored the sun rising than the sun setting." 
With Julius Csesar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that interest 
as he set him down in his testament for heir in remainder after 
his nephew. And this was the man that had power with him to 
draw him forth to his death ; for when Caesar would have dis- 65 
charged the Senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially 
a dream of Calpurnia, this man lifted him gently by the arm out 
of his chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the Sen- 
ate till his wife had dreamt a better dream. And it seemeth his 



43, 44. sortetli to inconvenience : that is, 
leads to inconvenience. 

43. privadoes (Spanish), secret friends. 

49. passionate, swayed by the feelings, 
sentimental. 

55. Sylla (more correctly Sulla) was 
appointed Roman dictator B.C. 



81. (See Plutarch's Z?Wj, under 
" Pompey.") 

58. pursuit, candidacy. 

63. as — that. 

67. Calpui-nia, the last wife of Julius 
Caesar. (See Shakespeare's Ju- 
lius Casar, act ii. scene i.) 



,g BACON. 

favor was so great as Antonius, in a letter which is recited vet-- 70 
batim in one of Cicero's Phihppics, calleth him venefica, witch, — 
as if he had enchanted Cssar. Augustus raised Agrippa (though 
of mean birth) to that height as, when he consulted with Maece- 
nas about the marriage of his daughter Julia, Meecenas took the 
liberty to tell him that he must either marry his daughter to 75 
Agrippa or take away his life ; there was no third way, he had 
made him so great. With Tiberius Caesar, Sejanus had ascend- 
ed to that height as they two were termed and reckoned as a 
pair of friends. Tiberius, in a letter to him, saith, ^'Hczc pro 
amicitia nostra non occultavi'" [these things, on account of our 80 
friendship, I have not concealed] ; and the whole Senate dedi- 
cated an altar to friendship, as to a goddess, in respect of the 
great dearness of friendship between them two. The like, or 
more, was between Septimus Severus and Plautianus ; for he 
forced his eldest son to marry the daughter of Plautianus, and 85 
would often maintain Plautianus in doing affronts to his son : 
and did write also, in a letter to the Senate, by these words : " I 
love the man so well as I wish he may over-live me." Now, if 
these princes had been as a Trajan or a Marcus Aurelius, a man 
might have thought that this had proceeded of an abundant 90 
goodness of nature ; but being men so wise, of such strength and 
severity of mind, and so extreme lovers of themselves, as all 
these were, it proveth most plainly that they found their own fe- 
licity, though as great as ever happened to mortal men, but as 
an half piece, except they mought* have a friend to make it en- 95 
tire ; and yet, which is more, they were princes that had wives, 
sons, nephews, and yet all these could not supply the comfort of 
friendship. 



70. as. See note to line 63. 

72. Agrip'pa, a celebrated Roman gen- 
eral. 

77. Seja'nus, a Tuscan who rose to the 
.highest favor with the Emperor 
Tiberius, but who, having be- 
trayed the trust reposed in him, 
was put to death, A.D. 31. 

83. dearness, fondness. 

88. over-live ine = outlive me. And 



95. 



yet Severus ultimately put 
Plautianus to death on suspi- 
cion of treason. (See Gibbon : 
Decline and Fall of the Roman 
Empire, chap, v.) 

Trajan (A.D. 98-117) and Marcus 
Aurelius (A.D. 161-181), Roman 
emperors, remarkable for their 
benevolence and purity of life. 

mought = might, should. 



BACON'S ESSAYS. 



39 



6. It is not to be forgotten what Comineus observeth of his 
first master, Duke Charles the Hardy — namely, that he would loo 
communicate his secrets with none, and least of all those se- 
crets which troubled him most. Whereupon he goeth on, and 
saith that towards his latter time that closeness did impair and a 
little perish his understanding.. Surely, Comineus mought have 
made the same judgment also, if it had pleased him, of his ,sec- 105 
oncl master, Lewis the Eleventh, whose closeness was indeed his 
tormentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true, " Cor 
ne edito " — eat not the heart. Certainly, if a man would give it a 
hard phrase, those that want friends to open themselves unto 
are cannibals of their own hearts. But one thing is most admi-no 
rable (wherewith I will conclude this first fruit of friendship), 
which is, that this communicating of a. man's self to his friend 
works two contrary effects, for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth 
griefs in halves. For there is no man that imparteth his joys to 
his friend but he joyeth the more, and no man that imparteth his 115 
griefs to his friend but he grieveth the less. So that it is, in 
truth, of operation upon a man's mind of like virtue as the alche- 
mists use to attribute to their stone for man's body, that it work- 
eth all contrary effects, but still to the good and benefit of nat- 
ure. But yet without praying in aid of alchemists, there is a 120 
manifest image of this in the ordinary course of nature ; for, in 
bodies, union strengtheneth and cherisheth any natural action, 
and, on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any violent im- 
pression. And even so is it of minds. 



99. Comineus (that is, Philip de Co- 
mines), a French statesman and 
writer (A.D. 1445-1509). His 
first master was Charles the 
Bold, Duke of Burgundy. 

100. Charles the Hardy (Charles the 
Bold), the rival of Louis XI. 
(There is a fine life .of Charles 
by Kirke, the American histo- 
rian ; and Scott, in the novel of 
Qaeiitin Durivard, gives mas- 
terly portraits both of Charles 
and of Louis XI.) 

loi. with none = to none. 



104. perish, enfeeble, cause to decay. 

118. their stone: that is, the philoso- 
pher's stone, deemed z. panacea, 
or universal remedy. 

120. praying in aid of alchemists. To 
pray in aid is a legal term signi- 
fying to call in the help of an- 
other having an interest in the 
cause in question. By " pray- 
ing in aid of alchemists," there- 
fore. Bacon means calling in 
alchemists as advocates to as- 
sist him in his argument. 

124. of, with regard to. 



40 



BACON. 



7. The second fruit of friendship is healthful and sovereign for 125 
the understanding, as the first is for the affections. For friend- 
ship maketh indeed a fair day in the affections from storm and 
tempests, but it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of 
darkness and confusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be un- 
derstood only of faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from 130 
his friend ; but before you come to that, certain it is that whoso- 
ever hath his mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and un- 
derstanding do clarify and break up in the communicating and 
discoursing with' another : he tosseth his thoughts more easily; 
he marshalleth them more orderly ; he seeth how they look 13s 
when they are turned into words ; finally, he waxeth wiser than 
himself, and that more by an hour's discourse than by a day's 
meditation. It was well said by Themistocles to the King of 
Persia " that speech was like cloth of Arras opened and put 
abroad, whereby the imagery doth appear in figure ; whereas in 140 
thoughts they lie but as in packs." Neither is this second fruit 
of friendship, in opening the understanding, restrained only to 
such friends as are able to give a man counsel (they, indeed, are 
best) ; but even without that a man learneth of himself, and 
bringeth his own thoughts to light, and whetteth his wits as 145 
against a stone, which itself cuts not. In a word, a man were 
better relate himself to a statua* or picture than to suffer his 
thoughts to pass in smother.* 

8. Add now, to make this second fruit of friendship complete, 
that other point, which lieth more open, and falleth within vulgar 150 
observation — which is, faithful counsel from a friend. Heracli- 



136. Tviixetli, grows. 

138. Themis'tocles, a distinguished 

Athenian statesman and gen- 
eral, born about B.C. 514, and 
died 449. 

139. cloth of Arras. The word used 

by Plutarch in his life of The- 
mistocles signifies tapestry. In 
Bacon's time this was called 
" cloth of Arras," from Arras, a 



town of France famous for its 
manufacture. 
142. restrained, restricted, confined. 

146. In a word, etc. : that is, it is better 

for a man to address himself to 
a statue or picture than to keep 
his thoughts stifled in his own 
mind. 

147. statua = statue. 
150. Tulgar, common. 



BACON'S ESSAYS. 



41 



tus saith well, in one of his enigmas, " Dry light is ever the 
best." And certain it is that the light that a man receiveth by 
counsel from another is drier and purer than that which cometh 
from his own understanding and judgment, which is ever infused 155 
and drenched in his affections and customs : so as there is as 
much difference between the counsel that a friend giveth and 
that a man giveth himself as there is between the counsel of a 
friend and of a flatterer ; for there is no such flatterer as is a 
man's self, and there is no such remedy against flattery of a 160 
man's self as the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts : 
the one concerning manners, the other concerning business. For 
the first, the best preservative to keep the mind in health is the 
faithful admonition of a friend. The calling of a man's self to a 
strict account is a medicine sometime too piercing and corro- 165 
sive, reading good books of morality is a little flat and dead, 
observing our faults in others is sometimes unproper for our 
case ; but the best receipt (best, I say, to work, and best to take.) 
is the admonition of a friend. 

9. It is a strange thing to behold what gross errors and ex- 17° 
treme absurdities many (especially of the greater sort) do com- 
mit for want of a friend to tell them of them, to the great dam- 
age both of their fame and fortune ; for, as St. James saith, they 
are as men " that look sometimes into a glass, and presently for- 
get their own shape and favor." As for business, a man may 175 
think, if he will, that two eyes see no more than one ; or that a 
gamester seeth always more than a looker-on ; or that a man in 
anger is as wise as he that hath said over the four and twenty 
letters ; or that a musket may be shot off as well upon the arm 
as upon a rest; and such other fond* and high imaginations to iSo 



152. Dry light: that is, intellect pure 
and unclouded by passion. In 
anothei- of his works (On the 
Wisdom of the Ancients, chap. 
xxvii.) Bacon expands the ref- 
erence to the saying of Hera- 
clitus : " Heraclitus, the Ob- 
scure, said, The dry light was 
the best soul — meaning, when the 
faculties intellectual are in vig- 



or, not wet, nor, as it were, 
blooded by the affections." 

156. so as = so that. 

175. favor, countenance or appearance. 

180. as upon a rest. The allusion is to 
the fact that the musket (intro- 
duced about A.D. 1520) was at 
first so heavy that it was fixed 
upon a fork or rest. — fond, fool- 
ish. 



42 



B A CO IV. 



think himself all in all ; but when all is clone, the help of good 
counsel is that which setteth business straight. And if any man 
think that he will take counsel, but it shall be by pieces — asking 
counsel in one business of one man, and in another business of 
another man — it is well (that is to say, better, perhaps, than if he 185 
asked none at all) ; but he runneth two dangers : one, that he 
shall not be faithfully counselled — for it is a rare thing, except it 
be from a perfect and entire friend, to have counsel given but 
such as shall be bowed and crooked to some ends which he hath 
that giveth it ; the other, that he shall have counsel given hurtful 190 
and unsafe (though with good meaning), and mixed partly of mis- 
chief and partly of remedy — even as if you would call a physician 
that is thought good for the cure of the disease you complain of, 
but is unacquainted with your body, and therefore may put you 
in way for a present cure, but overthroweth your health in some 195 
other kind, and so cure the disease and kill the patient. But a 
friend that is wholly acquainted with a man's estate will beware, 
by furthering any present business, how he dasheth upon other 
inconvenience. And therefore rest not upon scattered counsels ; 
they will rather distract and mislead then settle and direct. 200 

10. After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the af- 
fections and support of the judgment) followeth the last fruit, 
which is, like the pomegranate, full of many kernels ; I mean aid, 
and bearing a part in all actions and occasions. Here the best 
way to represent to life the manifold use of friendship is to cast 205 
and see how many things there are which a man cannot do him- 
self ; and then it will appear that it was a sparing speech of the 
ancients to say " that a friend is another himself," for that a 
friend is far more than himself. Men have their time, and die 
many times in desire of some things which they principally take 210 
to heart — the bestowing of a child, the finishing of a work, or the 
like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest almost secure 
that the care of those things will continue after him ; so that a 
man hath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A man hath a 
body, and that body is confined to a place ; but where friendship 215 
is, all offices of life are, as it were, granted to him and his deputy, 



189. crooked, perverted. j 207. sparing, reasonable, moderate. 

197. estate, state or circumstances. I 211. bestowing, disposal. 



BACON'S ESSAYS. 



43 



for he may exercise them by his friend. How many things are 
there which a man cannot, with any face or comehness, say or do 
himself ! A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty, 
much less extol them; a man cannot sometimes brook to suppli-22c 
cate or beg, and a number of the like ; but all these things are 
graceful in a friend's mouth, which are blushing in a man's own. 
So, again, a man's person hath many proper* relations, which he 
cannot put off. A man cannot speak to his son but as a father ; 
to his wife, but as a husband ; to his enemy, but upon terms : 225 
whereas a friend may speak as the case requires, and not as it 
sorteth with the person. But to enumerate these things were 
endless. I have given the rule : where a man cannot fitly play 
his own part, if he have not a friend he may quit the stage. 



222. are blushing: that is, are fit to 1 culiar relations or conditions 

make one blush. which he cannot escape. 

223, 224. proper . . . put off: that is, pe- | 227. sortetli, suits, agrees. 



III. 



JOHN MILTON. 

1 608- 1 676. 




'^^ fvl^Ch^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY CHANNING. 

I. In delineating Milton's character as a poet, we are saved 
the necessity of looking far for its distinguishing attributes. His 
name is almost identified with sublimity. He is in truth the 
sublimest of men. He rises, not by effort or discipline, but by 



CHANNING'S CHARACTERIZATION OF MILTON. 



45 



a native tendency and a godlike instinct, to the contemplation of 
objects of grandeur and awfulness. He always moves with a 
conscious energy. There is no subject so vast or terrific as to 
repel or intimidate him. The overpowering grandeur of a theme 
kindles and attracts him. He enters on the description of the 
infernal regions with a fearless tread, as if he felt within himself 
a power to erect the prison-house of fallen spirits, to encircle 
them with flames and horrors worthy of their crimes, to call forth 
from them shouts which should "tear hell's concave," and to em- 
body in their chief an archangel's energies and a demon's pride 
and hate. Even the stupendous conception of Satan seems never 
to oppress his faculties. This character of power runs through 
all Milton's works. His descriptions of nature show a free and 
bold hand. He has no need of the minute, graphic skill which 
we prize in Cowper or Crabbe. With a few strong or delicate 
touches, he impresses, as it were, his own mind on the scenes 
which he would describe, and kindles the imagination of the 
gifted reader to clothe them with the same radiant hues under 
which they appeared to his own. 

2. From this very imperfect view of the qualities of Milton's 
poetry, we hasten to his great work. Paradise Lost, perhaps the 
noblest monument of human genius. The two first books, by 
universal consent, stand pre-eminent in sublimity. Hell and 
hell's king have a terrible harmony, and dilate into new grandeur 
and awfulness the longer we contemplate them. From one ele- 
ment, " solid and liquid fire," the poet has framed a world of 
horror and suffering, such as imagination had never traversed. 
But fiercer flames than those which encompass Satan burn in 
his own soul. Revenge, exasperated pride, consuming wrath, 
ambition ; though fallen, yet unconquered by the thunders of the 
Omnipotent, and grasping still at the empire of the universe — 
these form a picture more sublime and terrible than hell. Hell 
yields to the spirit which it imprisons. The intensity of its fires 
reveals the intenser passions and more vehement will of Satan ; 
and the ruined Archangel gathers into himself the sublimity of 
the scene which surrounds him. This forms the tremendous in- 
terest of these wonderful books. We see mind triumphant over 
the most terrible powers of nature. We see unutterable agony 
subdued by energy of soul. 



^6 MILTON. 

3. Milton's versification has the prime charm of expressive- 
ness. His numbers vary with, and answer to, the depth or ten- 
derness or sublimity of his conceptions, and hold intimate alli- 
ance with the soul. Like Michael Angelo, in whose hands the 
marble was said to be flexible, he bends our language, which 
foreigners reproach with hardness, into whatever forms the sub- 
ject demands. All the treasures of sweet and solemn sound are 
at his command. Words harsh and discordant in the writings 
of less gifted men flow through his poetry in a full stream of 
harmony. This power over language is not to be ascribed to 
Milton's musical ear. It belongs to the soul. It is a gift or 
exercise of genius, which has power to impress itself on whatever 
it touches ; and finds or frames, in sounds, motions, and ma- 
terial forms, correspondences and harmonies with its own fervid 
thoughts and feedings. 

4. Milton's poetry is characterized by seriousness. Great and 
various as are its merits, it does not discover all the variety of 
genius which we find in Shakespeare, whose imagination revelled 
equally in regions of mirth, beauty, and terror, now evoking 
spectres, now sporting witli fairies, and now " ascending the 
highest heaven of invention." Milton was cast on times too 
solemn and eventful, was called to take part in transactions too 
perilous, and had too perpetual need of the presence of high 
thoughts and motives, to indulge himself in light and gay crea- 
tions, even had his genius been more flexible and sportive. But 
his poetry, though habitually serious, is always healthful and 
bright and vigorous. It has no gloom. He took no pleasure 
in drawing dark pictures of life ; for he knew by experience that 
there is a power in the soul to transmute calamity into an occa- 
sion and nutriment of moral power and triumphant virtue. We 
find nowhere in his writings that whining sensibility and exagger- 
ation of morbid feeling which make so much of modern poetry 
effeminating. If he is not gay, he is not spirit -broken. His 
L Allegro proves that he understood thoroughly the bright and 
joyous aspects of nature ; and in his Pejiseroso, where he was 
tempted to accumulate images of gloom, we learn that the sad- 
dest views which he took of creation are such as inspire only 
pensive musing or lofty contemplation. 

5. From Milton's poetry we turn to his prose ; and, first, it is 



CHANNINCS CHARACTERIZATION OF MILTON. 



47 



objected to his prose writings that tlie style is difficult and ob- 
scure, abounding in involutions, transpositions, and Latinisms ; 
that his protracted sentences exhaust and weary the mind, and 
too often yield it no better recompense than confused and in- 
distinct perceptions. 

6. We mean not to deny that these charges have some grounds ; 
but they seem to us much exaggerated ; and when we consider 
that the difficulties of Milton's style have almost sealed up his 
prose writings, we cannot but lament the fastidiousness and ef- 
feminacy of modern readers. We know that simplicity and per- 
spicuity are important qualities of style ; but there are vastly 
nobler and more important ones, such as energy and richness, 
and in these Milton is not surpassed. The best style is not that 
which puts the reader most easily and in the shortest time in 
possession of a writer's naked thoughts ; but that which is the 
truest image of a great intellect, which conveys fully and carries 
furthest into other souls the conceptions and feelings of a pro- 
found and lofty spirit. To be universally intelligible is not the 
highest merit. A great mind cannot, without injurious constraint, 
shrink itself to the grasp of common passive readers. Its natu- 
ral movement is free, bold, and majestic ; and it ought not to be 
required to part with these attributes that the multitude may 
keep pace with it. A full mind will naturally overflow in long 
sentences ; and in the moment of inspiration, when thick-coming 
thoughts and images crowd on it, will often pour them forth in a 
splendid confusion, dazzling to common readers, but kindling to 
congenial spirits. There are writings which are clear through 
their shallowness. We must not expect in the ocean the trans- 
parency of the calm inland stream. For ourselves, we love what 
is called easy reading perhaps too well, especially in our hours 
of relaxation ; but we love, too, to have our faculties tasked by 
master-spirits. We delight in long sentences in which a great 
truth, instead of being broken up into numerous periods, is 
spread out in its full proportions, is irradiated with variety of 
illustrations and imagery, is set forth in a splendid affluence of 
language, and flows, like a full stream, with a majestic harmony 
which fills at once the ear and soul. 



MILTON. 

THREE POETS ON MILTON. 
I. 

Three poets, in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. 
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed, 
The next in majesty, in both the last. 
The force of nature could no further go : 
To make a third, she joined the other two. 



Dryden. 



II. 

Nor second he that rode sublime 

Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, 

The secret of th' abyss to spy. 
He passed the flaming bounds of place and time — 
The living throne, the sapphire-blaze. 
Where angels tremble, while they gaze, 
He saw \ but, blasted with excess of light. 
Closed his eyes in endless night. Gray. 

III. 

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour.' 
England hath need of thee : she is a fen 
Of stagnant waters \ altar, sword, and pen, 
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower. 
Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men ; 
Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart ; 
Thou had St a voice whose sound was like the sea : 
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free. 
So didst thou travel on life's common way, 
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 

Wordsworth. 

' "This hour;" to wit, i8o2, when this sonnet was written. 



UALLEGRO. 



I.— L'ALLEGRO. 



49 



[Introduction. — VAUe'gro (Italian) signifies the cheerful or merry man, 
and the poem celebrates the charms of mirth, just as // Penserd so (the melan- 
choly man — see page 57) celebrates the charms of melancholy. The two poems 
should be read together, for they are counterparts of each other. It may be 
noted that the respective characteristics of the two speakers are scarcely ex- 
pressed by the terms merry and melancholy. L" Allegro is a celebration of the 
social side of life — the view taken of life by one who loves to associate with the 
"kindly race of men ;" while II Penseroso brings before us the moods and feel- 
ings of a grave and serious spirit — of one whose eye looks inward rather than 
outward. " There can be little doubt as to which of the two characters he 
portrays was after Milton's own heart. He portrays U Allegro with much 
skill and excellence ; but he cannot feign with him the sympathy he genuinely 
feels with the other ; into his- portrait of // Penseroso he throws himself, so to 
speak, with all his soul." — Hales : Longer English Poems.^ 

Hence, loathed Melancholy,* 

Of Cerberus * and blackest Midnight born, 
In Stygian * cave forlorn, 

'Mongst horrid shajoes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! 
Find out some uncouth * cell, 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings. 

And the night raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, 

As ragged as thy locks. 



Notes. — Line 2. Of Cer'berns . . . born. ' 3. Styg'ian, relating to Styx, a river of 
The genealogy here assigned ' the infernal region ; hence, hell- 

to "Melancholy" is Milton's; ish, hateful, 

own invention. I 5. uncouth, wild, strange. 



Literary Analysis. — Explain the following names in classical mythology: 
"Cerberus" (2) ; "Euphrosyne" (12) ; and "Bacchus" (16). — Give the etymol- 
ogy of the following words: "Melancholy" (i); "ycleped" (12); "dight" 

(54). 

1-16. Hence . . . bore. To what class (grammatically considered) do the 

first three sentences belong ? 

I. Melancholy. What is the figure of speech.'' (See Def. 22.) — Give another 

instance of the use of this figure in sentence i, and another in sentence 2. 
3, 4. What phrases present a vivid picture of the under-world.'' 
5. uncouth. How does its modern differ from its original meaning .'' 
9. As ragged, etc. What figure of speech ? (See Def 19.) 

4 



50 



MIL TON. 



In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But come, thou goddess fair and free, 
In heaven ycleped * Euphrosyne,* 
And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
Whom lovely Venus at a birth. 
With two sister Graces more. 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore. 

tP -n* -TV- •5^' ^ ',.- 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest and youthful Jollity, 
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles. 
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides. 
Come, and trip it as ye go 
On the light fantastic toe ; 



10. Cimme'rian, relating to the Cim- 
merii, a mythical people, who, 
according to Homer, lived in 
a land where the sun never 
shone. 

12. ycleped, called. 

12 - i6. Eiipliros'yue . . . bore. " Eu- 
phrosyne," one of the three 
Graces that attended on Venus, 
the goddess of love. The " two 
sister graces" were Agla'ia 
(grace) and Thali'a (favor). 



i6. Bacchus (in Greek mythology Dio- 
ny'stis) was the youthful and 
beautiful god of wine. He was 
reputed the son of Jupiter and 
Sem'ele. 

19. Quips, smart, sarcastic jests; cranks, 
turns or conceits of speech ; 
wanton, free and easy. 

21. He'be, the goddess of youth, and 

daughter of Jupiter and Juno. 

22. love to live : that is, are wont to 

live (Latin idiom). 



Literary Analysis. — 10. dai-lt Cimmerian. Is there any tautology here? 

16. ivy-crowned. Why is this an appropriate epithet.'' 

20. wreathed. What epithet contrasting with "wreathed" is applied to 
" Care " in line 23 ? 

23, 24. Sport . . . sides. Give three examples of personification (see Def. 22) 
in this passage. 

25, 26. What expression in this passage is now a familiar quotation? And 
compare with Shakespeare ( Tempest, iv. 2) : 

" Come and go, 
Each one tripping on his toe" 



UALLEGRO. 



51 



And in thy right hand lead with thee 
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty. 
And, if I give thee honor due, 
Mirth, admit me of thy crew* 
To Hve with her, and live with thee, 
In unreproved* pleasures free; 
To hear the lark begin his flight, 
And singing startle the dull Night 
From his watch-tower in the skies. 
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
Then to come in spite of sorrow. 
And at my window bid good-morrow. 
Through the sweet-brier, or the vine. 
Or the twisted eglantine, 
While the cock, with lively din. 
Scatters the rear of darkness thin. 



30. crew, set or company. The word 
is not here used in its deroga- 
tory sense. 

32. unreproved, unreprovable, blame- 
less. 

37. in spite Of sorrow = out of a spirit 
of spite against sorrow ; that is, 
to spite sorrow. 



39, 40. sweet-brier , . . eglantine. Eglan- 
tine and sweet-brier being the 
same plant, it is conjectured 
that by " twisted eglantine " 
Milton has reference to the 
honey-suckle. 

41. lively din. Compare with Grey's 
" shrill clarion." 



Literary Analysis. — 28. mountain nympli. Can you think of any reason 
why "Liberty" is styled a "mountain nymph.?" 

32. unreproved pleasures free. Note that the order of words here is adjective 
-f noun -1- adjective. This is a favorite arrangement with Milton. Are there 
any other examples of this order in the present poem .'' What would be the 
prose arrangement .-' 

33-60. To hear the lark . . . dale. In this fine piece of description, enumerate 
the various sights and sounds that address the senses of V Allegro. Select 
the most picturesque touches. 

35. his. Whose ? and why the masculine form ? 

37. to come. On what does "to come" depend — on "admit" or on "to 
hear ?" On the answer to this question rests whether it is L' Allegro or the 
lark that comes to " bid good-morrow." 

42. Scatters . . . darkness. What figure of speech in this? (See Def 20.) 
From what is the metaphor taken } Expand it into a simile. (See Def 20, ii.) 



52 



MILTON. 



And to the stack or the barn door 

Stoutly struts his dames before ; 

Oft list'ning how the hounds and horn 

Cheerly rouse the slumb'ring morn, 

From the side of some hoar hill, 

Through the high wood echoing shrill ; 

Sometime walking, not unseen. 

By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 

Right against the eastern gate. 

Where the great sun begins his state, 

Robed in iiames and amber light. 

The clouds in thousand liveries dight,* 

While the ploughman near at hand 

Whistles o'er the furrowed land, 

And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 

And the mower whets his scythe. 

And every shepherd tells his tale * 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures 

While the landscape round it measures — 

Russet lawns and fallows gray. 

Where the nibbling flocks do stray. 

Mountains on whose barren breast 

The laboring clouds do often rest, 

Meadows trim with daisies pied, 

Shallow brooks and rivers wide. 

Towers and battlements it sees 

Bosomed high in tufted trees, 



65 



46. Cheerly = cheerily. 

47. hoar, rime-white. 
51. against, towards. 

54. in thousand liveries dight: that is, 
arrayed in a thousand suits of 
color. 



59. tells his tale = tells or counts the 
tale, or mimber of his flock. 

61. Straight, straightway, immediately. 

63. lawns, open grassy spaces, pastures ; 
gray, light-brown. 

67. pied, variegated in color. 



Literary Analysis.— 59. Give the etymology of the word "tale." 
65-67. What epithets are applied to "breast," "clouds," and "meadowsi'" 
Are these literal or metaphorical ? 



UALLEGRO. 

Where perhaps some beauty lies,* 

The cynosure * of neighb'ring eyes. 

Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 

From betwixt two aged oaks, 

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met 

Are at their savory dinner set 

Of herbs and other country messes, 

Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses ; 

And then in haste her bower* she leaves, 

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves, 

Or, if the earlier season lead, 

To the tanned haycock in the mead. 

Sometimes with secure * delight 
The upland hamlets will invite. 
When the merry bells ring round, 
And the jocund rebecs sound 
To many a youth and many a maid, 
Dancing in the checkered shade ; 



53 



71. lies, dwells, resides. 

72. cjTiosure, any object that strongly 

attracts attention. 
75. Cor'ydon and Thyr'sis, names of 
shepherds, used by Virgil. 

77. messes, dishes of food. 

78. Phyl'lis, the name of a country girl 

that figures in Virgil's Eclogues ; 
hence meant to typify any rus- 
tic maiden. 
80. Thes'tylis, a female slave mentioned 



by Theo'critus ; hence, a coun- 
try lass in general. 

83. secure, free from care. 

84. upland hamlets. " Upland " is 

here used, not in the primary 
sense : the meaning is country 
hamlets as contrasted with the 
" Towered cities " mentioned in 
line 109. 
86. rebecs, a stringed instrument of 
the fiddle kind. 



Literary Analysis. — 72. The cjTiosure, etc. What figure of speech is this .'' 
(See Def. 20.) — What is the derivation of " cynosure .'"' 

73-82. Hard by . . . mead. Is this a period or a loose sentence .'' (See Defs. 
67,58.) — Change this sentence into the prose order. 

75-So. Contrast the allusions in these lines with those in lines 92-106. 
Which are classical ? Which are derived from old English folk-lore ? 

83. secure. How does the meaning here differ from the modern sense ? 

83-108, and 109-116. In the former passage we have a picture of rustic 
pleasures in the upland hamlets : what contrasting pictures have we in the 
latter passage ? 



54 



MIL TON. 



And young and old come forth to play- 
On a sunshine holiday, 
Till the livelong daylight fail ; 
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 
With stories told of many a feat : 
How fairy Mab the junkets * eat ; 
She was pinched and pulled, she said ; 
And he, by friar's lantern* led ; 
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 
To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 
That ten day-laborers could not end ; 
Then lies him down the lubbar* fiend, 
And, stretched out all the chimney's length, 
Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; 
And crop-full out of doors he flings, 
Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 
Towered cities please us then, 
And the busy hum of men, 
Where throngs of knights and barons bold. 
In weeds * of peace, high triumphs hold. 



95 



94. Mab, the queen of the fairies ; 

junkets, sweetmeats, dainties. 

95. 96. She ... he : that is, some of 

the story-tellers. 

96. And he . . . led : that is, he (one of 

the story-tellers) recounts that 
"he was led by," etc. There 
is said to be here an error in 
Milton's folk - lore : " Friar 
Rush haunted houses, not 
fields," and the sprite that 
played the prank referred to 
must have been Jack-o'-the- 
Lanthorn, or Will-o'-the-Wisp. 



97. Tells . . . drudging goblin. Supply 
he (that is, the last story-teller) 
as subject of "tells." By 
" drudging goblin " is meant a 
Robin Goodfellow, a domestic 
fairy that would do any kind of 
drudging work for a bowl of 
milk. 

he flings: that is, he flings him- 
self; he rushes. 

then: that is, at some other time. 
112. weeds, garments; triumphs, pub- 
lic shows or spectacles, as pag- 
eants, tournaments, etc. 



105. 



109. 



Literary Analysis.— 107, 108. Thus done . . . asleep. Analyze this sentence. 



UALLEGRO. 



55 



With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 

Rain influence, and judge the prize 

Of wit or arms, while both contend 

To win her grace whom all commend. 

There let Hymen oft appear 

In saffron robe, with taper clear, 

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 

With mask and antique pageantry ; 

Such sights as youthful poets dream 

On summer eves by haunted stream. 

Then to the well-trod stage anon. 

If Jonson's learne'd sock be on. 

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 

Warble his native wood-notes wild. 

And ever, against eating cares. 

Lap me in soft Lydian airs. 

Married to immortal verse — 

Such as the meeting soul may pierce 



113. store of ladles, many ladies. 

114. Rain iuflueiice. According to tlie 

doctrine of astrology, the rays 
or aspects flozving upon (Lat. 
infliiere, to flow upon) men ex- 
ercised a mysterious power over 
their fortunes : hence the mod- 
ern meaning of " influence." In 
the passage above, the word is 
used in its original sense. 
117. Hymen, the god of marriage. 



119. pomp, solemn procession. 

120. mask, a masquerade. 

124. If Jonson's learned sock : that is, 
if one of Ben Jonson's comedies 
be playing ; sock, a low-heeled 
shoe worn by comedians in 
ancient times. 

128. Lydian airs. Of the three modes 
or styles of Greek music, the 
" Lydian " was the soft and 
voluptuous. 



Literary Analysis.— 113. wliose briglit eyes, etc. Observe the splendor 
of the imagery. What is the figure of speech, and from what is it taken? 
(See note on "influence.") 

124. Jonson's learned sock. Ben Jonson, a contemporary of Shakespeare, wrote 
tragedies as well as comedies. Can you tell why it is befitting in this poem to 
refer to him exclusively as a writer of comedies ?— Contrast with the " gorgeous 
Tragedy " in // Penseroso (line 88, etc., page 60, of this book). 

125, 126. sweetest Shakespeare . . . wood-notes wild. Do you think that " sweet- 
est " and " warbling his native wood-notes," etc., are adequate expressions to 
apply to the greatest literary artist that the world has ever seen ? 



56 



MIL TON. 

In notes with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long drawn out 

With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, 

The melting voice through mazes running, 

Untwisting all the chains that tie 

The hidden soul of harmony ; 

That Orpheus' self may heave his head 

From golden slumber on a bed 

Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 

Such strains as would have won the ear 

Of Pluto to have quite set free 

His half-regained Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give, 

Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 



131. bout, a bend or turn — here a mu- 
sical passage. 

133. wanton, sportive, flying free. In 
this line the adjective describes 
the appearance, the noun the 
reality. 

137-142. Or'pheus' . . . Eurydice. Or- 
pheus, son of Apollo, who, with 
the music of his lyre, had the 
power to move inanimate ob- 



jects. His wife, Eurydice, hav- 
ing died, he followed her into 
the infernal region, where the 
god Pluto was so moved by the 
music that Orpheus almost suc- 
ceeded in carrying her back to 
earth. 
139. Elysian, pertaining to Elysium, 
the abode of the blessed after 
death. 



Literary Analysis. — 137-142. Tli-it Orplieus' self. . . Eurydice. What is 
the figure of speech? (See Def. 34.) It is in Milton's best style — rich, chaste, 
and classic. 

127-144. Commit to memory this splendid passage. 

Note on the Vocabulary. — Ninety per cent, of the words in V Allegro 
are of Anglo-Saxon origin — proper names being excluded and repetition of 
words counted. 



JL PENSEROSO. 

II.— IL PENSEROSO. 
Hence, vain deluding joys, 

The brood of Folly without father bred ! 

How little you bestead,* 
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys. 

Dwell in some idle brain, 
And fancies fond * with gaudy shapes possess, 
As thick and numberless 
As the gay motes that people the sunbeams. 
Or likest hovering dreams. 

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. 
But hail, thou goddess sage and holy. 
Hail, divinest Melancholy, 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight. 
And therefore to our weaker view 
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue — 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 
The sea-nymphs, and their powers ofifended. 



57 



Notes. — 3. bestead, avail. 
6. fond, foolish. 

10. pensioners, retinue, followers.— Mor- 
pheus, the son of Sleep, and the 
god of dreams. 

14. hit, meet, touch ; to strike. 

16. O'erlaid with black: that is, darken- 
ed in visage. 

18. Prince Memnon's sister. Memnon 
was an Ethiopian prince men- 
tioned by Homer. He was cel- 
ebrated for his beauty. The 
" sister " was Hem'era, and is 
also supposed to have been 



very lovely. — beseem, seem fit 
for. 
19-21. that starred Ethiop queen, etc. 

The allusion^ is to Cassiope'a, 
wife of Cepheus, King of Ethio- 
pia. The usual story is that it 
was the beauty of her daughter 
Androm'eda that she declared 
to surpass that of the "sea- 
nymphs " (Nereides). Cassio- 
pea, as also her daughter, was 
" starred," that is, placed among 
the constellations after death. 
21. their powers = their divinity. 



^ This is an "allusion " in the proper sense of the word — that is to say, it is 
an oblique, or indirect, reference. The word is often misapplied to direct ref- 
erence or mention. 



58 



MILTON. 

Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure,* 
All in a robe of darkest grain,* 
Flowing with majestic train, 
And sable stole of Cypres lawn. 
Over thy decent* shoulders drawn. 
Come, but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step, and musing gait. 
And looks commercing* with the skies, 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 
There, held in holy passion still. 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad leaden downward cast, 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. 
And hears the Muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing. 
And add to these retired Leisure, 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. 
But first, and chief est, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 
Guiding the fiery-wheele'd throne. 
The cherub Contemplation ; 
And the mute Silence hist along. 



22. nun. The word is here used in- 1 27. decent, becoming (because cov- 

definitely to denote a pious re- ' ered). 

cluse. I 28. TTonted state, that is, accustomed 

23. demure, grave. dignity. 



24. grain, shade or color. 

26. stole, veil or hood ; not the stola 
proper, or long robe, of the Ro- 
man matrons. — CyjH'es ( = Cy- 
prus) lawu was a thin transpar- 
ent texture of fine linen.^ 



30. coniinercing-, holding intercourse. 
32. holy passion still = holy + still (si- 
lent) +passion. 
35- as fast, as tirmly. 
43. yon (adv.), yonder, there. 
46. hist, silently ; supply bi-ing. 



' Cypres is defined in an old English dictionary as a "fine linen, crespe f 
and from crespe (= curled, crisped) come our crape and crepe. 



IL PENSEROSO. 



59 



'Less Philomel will deign a song, 

In her sweetest, saddest plight, 

Smoothing the rugged brow of night. 

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 

Gently o'er the accustomed oak : 

Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 

Most musical, most melancholy ! 

Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, 

I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 

And, missing thee, I walk unseen 

On the dry smooth-shaven green. 

To behold the wandering moon 

Riding near her highest noon. 

Like one that had been led astray 

Through the heaven's wide pathless way ; 

And oft, as if her head she bowed, 

Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 

I hear the far-off curfew* sound 

Over some wide-watered shore. 

Swinging slow with sullen roar. 

Or, if the air will not permit. 

Some still, removed place will fit, 

Where glowing embers through the room 

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; 

Far from all resort of mirth. 

Save the cricket on the hearth, 



6s 



47. 'Less = unless ; Philomel, the 
nightingale. 

50. Cynthia, the moon goddess ; her 

dragon yoke : that is, her train 
drawn by dragons. 

51. the accustomed call. This seems 

to refer to a particular land- 
scape which Milton had in his 
mind. 
59- near her highest noon: that is, near- 
ly full. 



64. plat, plot ; compare g\z&?,-plat. 

65. curfew, the curfew bell. See Glos- 

sary, and compare with Gray's 
Elegy, page 196 of this book. 

66. Oyer some wide-watered shore : that 

is, over some shore and the 

wide piece of water (river or 

lake) that borders it. 
69. removed, sequestered. 
73. save, except. This word is originally 

the imperative of the M&xhto save. 



6o 



MILTON. 



Or the bellman's drowsy charm,* 
To bless the doors from nightly harm. 
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour, 
Be seen in some high lonely tower. 
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, 
With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere 
The spirit of Plato to unfold 
What worlds or what vast regions hold 
The immortal mind, that hath forsook 
Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 
And of those demons that are found 
In fire, air, flood, or under ground, 
Whose power hath a true consent * 
With planet or with element. 
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
In sceptred pall come sweeping by. 
Presenting Thebes' or Pelops' line, 
Or the tale of Troy divine ; 



74. bellniair»i drowsy charm: that is, the 

watchman's drowsy song or 
chant. In the olden times in 
England, the watchmen, on their 
rounds, called out the hours and 
a blessing on the houses. 

75. nightly =by night. 

78. outwatch the Bear, This would be 

all night, as the constellation of 
the Bear never sets. 

79. thrice-great Her'mes. Hermes, a 

reputed divine personage, the 
god Thoth of the Egyptians ; 
he was the author of the most 
ancient Egyptian lore. "Thrice 
great"as king, priest, and philos- 
opher. — unsphere, draw down: 
the passage is metaphorical, 
and means communion with the 
spirit of Plato through the study 
of his writings. 

80. Plato, the sublimest of the Greek 



philosophers, was born B.C. 
429. 
86. consent, in the literal sense = sym- 
pathy. The reference is to the 
mediaeval doctrine of astrology. 

89. In sceptred pall : that is, in royal 

robe. 

90. Thebes. By two Greek dramatists 

Thebes was made the scene of 
some of their most famous trag- 
edies. The reference in " Pe- 
lops' line " is to the murder of 
Agamemnon, who was reputed 
a descendant of the mythic hero 
Pelops, and hence who was of 
" Pelops' line," or race. 

91. tlie tale of Troy divine. The ref- 

erence here is not, as might be 
supposed, to Homer's Iliad, but 
to the various Greek dramas 
written on episodes in the " tale 
of Troy." 



IL PENSEROSO. 



6i 



Or what (though rare) of later age 
Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Musaeus from his bower ; 
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
Such notes as, warbled to the string, 
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. 
And made Hell grant what love did seek ; 
Or call up him that left half told 
The story of Cambuscan bold. 
Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
And who had Canace to wife, 
That owned the virtuous ring and glass, 
And of the wondrous horse of brass, 
On which the Tartar king did ride ; 
And if aught else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung, 
Of tourneys '* and of trophies hung. 
Of forests, and enchantments drear — 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, 
Till civil-suited Morn appear ; 
Not tricked and frounced,* as she was wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt, 



93. the buskined stage : that is, Trage- 
dy's stage. The tragic actor 
wore a buskin, or high-heeled 
shoe. Contrast with "Jonson's 
learned sock " in E Allegro, line 
124. The allusion in 92 and 
93 is thought to be to the trag- 
edies of Shakespeare. 

95. Musse'iis, a mythical Greek poet, 

said to be the son of Orpheus. 

96. Orpheus. See Z'^//^^;v, line 137. 
1 00. Or call up liiiii that left half told. 

By "him" is meant Chaucer 
(A.D. 1328-1400). T\v& Squire's 
Tale, in which figure Cambus- 
can and the other personages 
named, is left by Chaucer un- 



finished — not even "half told," 
for it is little more than begun. 

106. the Tartar king: namely, Cambus- 

can (Cambus khan). 

107. great bards : to wit, poets of ro- 

mance, as Spenser, Tasso, Ari- 

osto, etc. 
109. tourneys, tournaments. 
III. Where: that is, in "the sage and 

solemn tunes," or poems, of the 

bards. 
113- mil-suited, sober-hued. 

1 14. tricked, dressed out ; frounced, 

frizzled and curled. 

115. the Attic boy. The allusion is to 

Ceph'alus, who was beloved by 
Eos, the goddess of the dawn. 



62 . MILTON. 

But kerchiefed * in a comely cloud, 

While rocking winds are piping loud ; 

Or ushered with a shower still, 

When the gust hath blown his fill, 

Ending on the rustling leaves. 

With minute-drops from off the eaves. 

And when the sun begins to fling 

His flaring beams,* me, Goddess, bring 

To arched walks of twilight groves, 

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves. 

Of pine, or monumental oak. 

Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke. 

Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt. 

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 

There, in close covert by some brook, 

Where no profaner eye may look, 

Hide me from day's garish* eye. 

While the bee with honeyed thigh, 

That at her flowery work doth sing. 

And the waters murmuring. 

With such consort as they keep. 

Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep ; 

And let some strange mysterious dream 

Wave at his wings in airy stream 

Of lively portraiture displayed, 

Softly on my eyelids laid. 



1 1 8. still, gentle. 

121. minute. This is not the adj. 
minute', but the noun min'ute 
— drops at brief intervals, as it 
were minute by minute. 

123. flaring-, with an unsteady, fluttering 
beam. 

125. Sylyan = Sylvanus, a woodland 
god of the old Latins. 

128. Nymphs, the dryads, or "oak- 



means someiohat profane — a 

Latin idiom. 
132. garisli, dazzling. 
138-141. And let some strange . , . laid. 

"The meaning of these lines is 
not very clear, but the simplest 
interpretation seems to be : 
' Let some strange mysterious 
dream stir the wings of dewy- 
feathered Sleep (that is, give 



nymphs." • consciousness to my sleep) by 

131. profaner. The word "profaner" displaying to my inward vision 

has not here the full force of a succession of vivid images.'" 

the comparative degree, but — Ross : Milton'' s Poems. 



IL PENSEROSO. 



63 



And as I wake, sweet music breathe 
Above, about, or underneath. 
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good. 
Or th' unseen Genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 
To walk the studious cloister's "* pale,* 
And love the high-embowed roof. 
With antic pillars massy* proof, 
And storied windows richly dight,* 
Casting a dim religious light. 
There let the pealing organ blow, 
To the full-voiced quire below, 
In service high, and anthems clear. 
As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
Dissolve me into ecstasies, 
And bring all heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage — 
The hairy gown and mossy cell. 
Where I may sit and rightly spell * 
Of every star that heaven doth shew. 
And every herb that sips the dew : 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures. Melancholy, give. 
And I with thee will choose to live. 



J 6s 



147. studious cloister's pale. The word 

"pale" signifies enclosure, and 
the whole expression is equiva- 
lent to seat of learning. 

148. high-embowed, lofty - vaulted, or 

arched. 

149. massy proof, proof against ( able 

to bear) the mass placed upon 
them. 



150. storied, painted with stories, or 
histories, taken from Scripture. 
For dig-ht, see UAllegro^ note to 
line 62. 

155. As = such as. 

159. the, not definite here, but equiva- 
lent to some. 

161. spell, read, study out. 

164. do: subjunctive mood. 



64 



MILTON. 



III.— MILTON'S PROSE. 



[Introduction. — The three following extracts are from Milton's great dis- 
course called " Areopag-itica: a Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Print- 
ing." It is a plea, the grandest ever made, for the freedom of the press. In 
explanation of the circumstances attending its composition, it may be stated 
that in 1643 an attempt was made in the Long Parliament to revive the sys- 
tem (which had for some years been in abeyance) of book-censorship, by 
which no work could be brought out until it was approved and licensed by 
persons designated by Parliament, and thence called licensers. Against the 
proposal Milton entered this eloquent protest ; and, for the greater effect, he 
threw it into the form of a Speech addressed to the Parliament, though it was 
never meant to be delivered in the ordinary sense. The Areopagittca ' was 
first published in 1644. 

"It is to be regretted," says Macaulay, "that the prose writings of Milton 
should, in our time, be so little read. As compositions, they deserve the attention 
of every one who wishes to become acquainted with the full power of the 
English language. They are a perfect Field of the Cloth of Gold. The style 
is stiif with gorgeous embroidery. Not even in the earlier books of the Para- 
dise Lost has he ever risen higher than in those parts of his controversial 
works in which his feelings, excited by conflict, find a vent in bursts of devo- 
tional and lyric rapture. It is, to borrow his own majestic language, 'a seven- 
fold chorus of hallelujahs and harping symphonies.' "] 

I.— BOOKS NOT DEAD THINGS. 

I. I deny not but that it is of greatest concernment, in the 
church and commonwealth, to have a vigilant eye how books de- 
mean * themselves, as well as men ; and thereafter to confine, 
imprison, and do sharpest justice on them as malefactors. For 
books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency s 
of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny 
they are ; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy 

Notes. — 2, 3. demean themselves, be- i 6. progeny, offspring. 

have themselves. | 7. efficacy, power to produce effects. 

Literary Analysis.— 2. demean. What is the etymology of "demean.?" 
Explain its incorrect modern use. Is demean used literally or metaphorical- 
ly ?— What is the figure ? (See Def 22.)— What subsequent words carry out 
the same figure ? 

3- thereafter to confine. Supply the ellipsis. 

5-7. but do contain . . . are. Express this thought in your own language. 



' The name Areopagitica is copied from the " Areopagitic Discourse " of the 
Greek orator Isocrates. Areopagitic means pertaining to the Areopagus, or 
High Court of Athens. 



MILTON'S PROSE. 



65 



and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. I know 
they are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous 
dragon's teeth ; and, being sown up and down, may chance to 
spring up armed men. 

2. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as 
good almost kill a man as kill a good book : who kills a man 
kills a reasonable creature, God's image ; but he who destroys a 
good book kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, 
in the eye. Many a man lives a burden to the earth ; but a good 
book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and 
treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true, no age 
can restore a life, wheireof, perhaps, there is no great loss ■ and 
revolutions of ages do not oft recover the loss of a rejected truth, ; 
for the want of which whole nations fare the worse. 



extraction. In this sense extract is 

the modern form. 
10. those fabulous dragon's teeth. 

According to the fable, Cadmus, 
having killed the dragon that 
watched the fountain at Thebes, 
in Greece, sowed its teeth, which 
immediately sprang up armed 
men. A similar story is told of 
Jason, leader of the Argonautic 
expedition. 



14. reasonable, rational. 

18. on purpose to, with a view to. 

20, 21. revolutions of ages . . . fare the 
worse. Thus it required " the 
revolutions of ages " (" age " 
here = century) before the wis- 
dom of the ancients, lost with 
the ruin of the Roman Empire 
(fifth century), was "recovered" 
at the revival of learning in the 
fifteenth century. 



Literary Analysis. — 9. as lively, etc. What is the figure of speech 1 
(See Def 19.) 

12. wariness. Give two or more synonyms of this word. 

12, 13. as good almost. Supply the ellipsis. — What does "almost" modify? 

14. kills a reasonable creature; but, etc. What is the figure of speech? (See 
Def 18.) 

16. in the eye. What is the force of this expression? 

17. precious life-blood, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 20.) 
17, 1 8- embalmed and treasured up. Is there any improper mixture of meta- 
phor here ? (See Def 20, ill.) — a life beyond life. Explain this expression. 

19. whereof. Modernize this word. 

20. oft. Modernize this word. 



66 



MIL TON. 



3. We should be wary, therefore, what persecution we raise 
against the Hving labors of public men, how we spill that sea- 
soned life of man, preserved and stored up in books ; since we 
see a kind of homicide* may be thus committed, sometimes a 25 
martyrdom,* and if it extend to the whole impression, a kind of 
massacre,* whereof the execution ends not in the slaying of an 
elemental life, but strikes at the ethereal and fifth essence — the 
breath of reason itself ; slays an immortality rather than a life. 



II.— TRUTH. 

Truth indeed came once into the world with her Divine Mas- 30 
ter, and was a perfect shape most glorious to look on : but when 
he ascended, and his apostles after him were laid asleep, then 
straight arose a wicked race of deceivers, who, as that story goes 



23. spill, destroy. 

27. the execution, the accomplishment. 

28. elemental life, a life, or being, con- 

sisting merely of the four sup- 
posed elements (earth, water, 
air, and fire). — fifth essence: 
this is a translation of quintes- 



sence (Lat. qiiinta, fifth, and ^j- 
j-«2i'/«, essence), and is an allu- 
sion to the doctrine of alchemy, 
in which the " fifth essence " was 
the highest and subtlest poten- 
cy in a natural body.' 
33. straight, straightway- 



Literary Analysis. — 22-29. We should be wary ... a life. What kind 
of sentence is this grammatically.' What are the principal propositions.' 
Point out the dependent propositions (clauses). — What kind of sentence is 
this rhetorically ? periodic or loose .' 

25-27. homicide . . . martyrdom . . . massacre. Give the etymology of each 
of these words. What figure of speech is this passage 1 (See Def 33.) 

22-29. Substitute synonyms for "wary" (22); "labors" (23); "slaying" 
(27). — Commit this sentence to memory. 

30. Truth . . . came, etc. What combination of figures of speech in this 
sentence ? (See Defs. 18, 22.) 



' The following passage in Paradise Lost illustrates these expressions : 
" Swift to their several quarters hasted then 
The cumbrous eletnent, earth, flood, air, fire; 
And this ethereal quintessence of heaven 
Flew upward." 



MILTON'S PROSE. 



67 



of the Egyptian Typhon with his conspirators, how they dealt 
with the good Osiris, took the virgin Truth, hewed her lovely 35 
form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to the four 
winds. From that time ever since, the sad friends of Truth, such 
as durst appear, imitating the careful search that Isis made for 
the mangled body of Osiris, went up and down gathering up limb 
by limb still as they could find them. We have not yet found 4° 
them all, lords and commons, nor ever shall do, till her Master's 
second coming ; he shall bring together every joint and member, 
and shall mould them into an immortal feature* of loveliness 
and perfection. Sufifer not these licensing prohibitions to stand 
at every place of opportunity, forbidding and disturbing them 45 
that continue seeking, that continue to do our obsequies to the 
torn body of our martyred saint. 



34, 35, 38. Egyptian Typlion . . . Osiris 

. . . Isis. Osiris was the great 
Egyptian (divinity. He is rep- 
resented as being originally 
King of Egypt ; and the story 
runs that, being mvnxlered by 
his brother Typhon, who cut 
his body into pieces and threw 
them into the Nile, Isis, the 
wife of Osiris, discovered the 
mangled remains after a long 
search. 
35- the good Osiris. While a king, his ' 



life was devoted to the good of 
his people. 
38. careful, anxious. See Luke x. 
41. 

40. still, ever. 

41, 42. her Master's second coming. See 

I Thessalonians iv. 16, 17. 

43. feature, form, structure. 

46. obsequies, acts of worship or devo- 
tion. The word is rather from 
the Lat. obseqiihim, dutiful con- 
duct, than from obseqiiiae (= exzi- 
viae), funeral rites. 



find them. What kind 



Literary Analysis. — 37-40. From that time 
of sentence is this rhetorically ? 

37. such. What is the grammatical construction of 

39, 40. gathering up limb by limb. 
Def 20.) 

42. he shall bring. What is the force of "shall 

43. feature. Give the derivation of this word. 
44-47. to stand . , . martyred saint. What is the figure of speech ? 

Def 22.) 

44-47. Suffer not . . . saint. What kind of sentence grammatically ? 
two adjective clauses are adjuncts to " them V 



■ such V — Of " as .'"' 
What is the figure of speech .' (See 

here .■' 

(See 



What 



68 



MILTOIV. 



III.-A NATION IN ITS STRENGTH. 

1. Lords and Commons of England! consider what a nation 
it is whereof ye are, and whereof ye are the governors — a nation 
not slow and dull, but of quick, ingenious, and piercing spirit ; so 
acute to invent, subtile * and sinewy to discourse,* not beneath 
the reach of any point the highest that human capacity can soar 
to. Therefore the studies of learning in her deepest sciences 
have been so ancient and so eminent among us that writers of 
good antiquity and able judgment have been persuaded that ss 
even the school of Pythagoras and the Persian wisdom took be- 
ginning from the old philosophy of this island. And that wise 
and civil* Roman, Julius Agricola, who governed once here for 
Caesar, preferred the natural wits of Britain before the labored 
studies of the French. ^° 

2. Behold now this vast city — a city of refuge, the mansion- 
house of Liberty — encompassed and surrounded with his protec- 
tion ; the shop of war hath not there more anvils and hammers 



49. whereof ye are = to which ye be- 
long. 

51. subtile, keen, discerning ; to dis- 
course, to reason. 

53. the studies. We should now use 

the singular number. — her. 
Learning is personified as 
feminine ; and, besides this, its 
was scarcely in Milton's time 
admitted into literary English. 

54. so ancient, etc. The reference is 

to the ancient British (Celtic) 
learning of the Druids, previous 



to the Anglo-Saxon invasion in 
the fifth century A.D. 

56. Pythagoras, a Greek philosopher, 
born about 570 B.C. 

58. civil, civilized, refined. 

58, 59. Julius Agricola . . . for Caesar. 
Agricola was Roman governor 
of Britain from 78 to 85 A.D. 
He governed under three em- 
perors — Vespasian, Titus, and 
Domitian ; but all the emperors 
bore the name of Ccesar. 

62. his. See note on line 53, above. 



Literary Analysis. — 51. Give the derivation of "subtile." Discriminate 
between subtile and subtle. 

51. subtile and sinewy. What is the figure of speech? 

52, 53. the highest . . . soar to. To what noun is this adjective element an 
adjunct ? 

57-59. And that wise and civil . . . French. Analyze this sentence. — preferred 
. . . before. Modernize. 

61-70. Behold . . . convincenient. What kind of sentence grammatically and 
rhetorically .'' 

63. the shop of war. What word now signifies a place where arms are 
manufactured.'' 



MILTON'S PROSE. ' gg 

working, to fashion out tlie plates and instruments of armed 
Justice in defence of beleaguered Truth, than there be pens and 65 
heads there, sitting by their studious lamps, musing, searching, 
revolving new notions and ideas wherewith to present, as with 
their homage * and their fealty,* the approaching reformation : 
others as fast reading, trying all things, assenting to the force 
of reason and convincement. ^o 

3. What could a man require more from a nation so pliant 
and so prone to seek after knowledge ? What wants there to 
such a towardly and pregnant soil but wise and faithful laborers 
to make a knowing people, a nation of prophets, of sages, and 
of worthies ? We reckon more than five months yet to harvest ; 75 
there need not be five weeks, had we but eyes to lift up : the 
fields are white already. Where there is much desire to learn, 
there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, many 
opinions ; for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the mak- 
ing. Under these fantastic terrors of sect and schism, we wrong 80 
the earnest and zealous thirst after knowledge and understand- 
ing which God hath stirred up in this city. What some lament 
of, we rather should rejoice at, should rather praise this pious 
forwardness among men to re-assume the ill -deputed care of 



64. plates, breastplates, and here used 

to denote defensive armor in 
genera], just as "instruments" 
denotes offensive armor. 

65. beleaguered, besieged, invested. 
70. convincement = conviction. 



Milton probably has reference 
to the success he hoped the 
Parliamentary army would gain 
over the royal army under 
Charles I. in the campaign of 
the next year (1645). 



73. towardly, tractable, compliant. \ 80. fantastic: that is, merely fanciful. 

74. a nation of prophets. See Numbers 83. of, in connection with, about, over. 

xi. 29. 84. re-assume. The modern form is 

75. five months, etc. See John iv. 35. resume. 



Literary Analysis. — 65, 66. there be. Modernize this form. —pens and 
heads. What is the figure ? (See Def 29.) Discriminate between " homage " 
and "fealty." (See Glossary, under homage.) 

71-75- What could a man . . . worthies. What is the rhetorical effect obtained 
by the use of the interrogative form in these two sentences.' — Point out an in- 
stance of alliteration in the first of these sentences. 

76- had we: what is the mood of the verb.' 

84, 85. re-assume . . . again. What fault may, perhaps, be pointed out here .' 



yo • MILTON. 

their religion into their own hands again. This is a lively and 85 
cheerful presage of our happy success and victory. For as in a 
body when the blood is fresh, the spirits* pure and vigorous, 
not only to vital, but to rational faculties, and those in the 
acutest and the pertest* operations of wit* and subtlety, it 
argues in what good plight* and constitution the body is; so 9° 
when the cheerfulness of the people is so sprightly up as that it 
has not only wherewith to guard well its own freedom and safe- 
ty, but to spare, and to bestow upon the solidest and sublimest 
points of controversy and new invention, it betokens us not de- 
generated, nor drooping to a fatal decay, by casting off the old 95 
and wrinkled skin of corruption to outlive these pangs, and wax 
young again, entering the glorious ways of truth and prosperous 
virtue, destined to become great and honorable in these latter 
ages. 

4. Methinks* I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation 100 
rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and shaking her 
invincible locks; methinks I see her as an eagle mewing* her 
mighty youth, and kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid- 
day beam, purging and unsealing her long-abused sight at the 



88. not only to = not only in regard to. \ which here means excited, 

89. pertest, briskest, liveliest. ' stirred up. 

90. plight, condition. [ 96. wax, become. 

91. sprightly. The word is here used , 102. meiTiiig, renewing by moulting, or 

as an adverb modifying "up," 1 shedding feathers, as a bird. 



Literary Analysis. — 85, 86. lively and cheerful presage. Milton frequent- 
ly uses pairs of adjectives and nouns, .Sometimes they raise different images, 
and at other times the second merely adds emphasis. Point out examples in 
the subsequent 'parts of this piece, and distinguish between double-imaged and 
merely emphatic pairs. 

87. the spirits pure. Supply the ellipsis, and what is now deemed bad gram- 
mar will appear ; state the fault. 

91. is so sprightly up. State the grammatical construction of these words. 

95. by easting off. From what is the metaphor drawn? 

loo-ioS. Methinks I see . . . schisms. Point out the two similes. Which is 
the grander? — Explain "Methinks." What is its subject.'' — in my mind: that 
is, in his "mind's eye," so that the sentence is an example of the figure vision. 
(See Def. 24.) The whole passage fairly glows with celestial fire. — It has been 



MILTON'S PROSE. 



71 



fountain itself of heavenly radiance; while the whole noise* of 105 
timorous and flocking birds, with those also that love the twi- 
light, flutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their en- 
vious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms. 



105. noise, set, company. 

106. flocking birds: that is, those that 

hover about in companies — not 



"lone-flying" birds, like the 
eagle. 
108. gabble, meaningless sounds. 



pointed out that a rhythmical movement pervades this passage, the character 
of which appears from the following division : 

" Methinks I see in my mind a noble and puissant nation 
Rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, 
And shaking her invincible locks ; 

Methinks I see her as an eagle mewing her mighty 3'outh, 
And kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam, 
Purging and unsealing her long-abused sight 
At the fountain itself of heavenly radiance ; 
While the whole noise of timorous and flocking birds, 
with those also that love the twilight. 
Flutter about, amazed at what she means, 
And in their envious gabble would prognosticate 
A year of sects and schisms." 



IV. 

SAMUEL BUTLER. 

1612-1680. 




HALLAM'S CRITIQUE ON BUTLER'S HUDIBRAS. 
I. Hudibras was incomparably more popular than Paradise 
Lost : no poem in our language rose at once to greater reputa- 
tion. Nor can this be called ephemeral, like most political 
poetry. For at least half a century after its publication, it was 



HALLAAVS CRITIQUE ON BUTLER'S HUDIBRAS. y3 

generally read and perpetually quoted. The wit of Butler has 
still preserved many lines; but Hudibras now attracts compar- 
atively few readers. The eulogies of Johnson' seem rather 
adapted to what he remembered to have been the fame of But- 
ler than to the feelings of the surrounding generation; and 
since his time new sources of amusement have sprung up, and 
writers of a more intelligible pleasantry have superseded those 
of the seventeenth century. 

2. In the fiction of Hudibras there was never much to divert 
the reader, and there is still less left at present. But what has 
been censured as a fault — the length of dialogue, which puts 
the fiction out of sight — is, in fact, the source of all the pleasure 
that the work affords. The sense of Butler is masculine, his wit 
inexhaustible, and it is supplied from every source of reading 
and observation. But these sources are often so unknown to 
the reader that the wit loses its effect through the obscurity of 
its allusions, and he yields to the bane of wit — a purblind, mole- 
like pedantry. His versification is sometimes spirited, and his 
rhymes humorous ; yet he wants that ease and flow which we 
require in light poetry. 

' "The poem oi Hudibras is one of those compositions of which a nation 
may justly boast ; as the images which it exhibits are domestic, the sentiments 
unborrowed and unexpected, and the strain of diction original and peculiar. 
... If inexhaustible wit could give perpetual pleasure, no eye could ever 
leave half read the work of Butler ; for what poet has ever brought so many 
remote images so happily together ? It is scarcely possible to peruse a page 
without finding some association of images never found before. By the first 
paragraph the reader is amused, by the next he is delighted, and by a few 
more, strained to astonishment." — Dr. Johnson : Lives of the Poets. 



74 



BUTLER. 



I.— EXTRACTS FROM HUDIBRAS. 

[Introduction. — Hudibras is a political satire, written in the mock-heroic 
vein, its aim being to ridicule the Puritans. There is, properly speaking, no 
plot in the poem. Sir Hudibras and his squire go forth to stop the amuse- 
ments of the common people, against which the Rump Parliament has passed 
some severe laws. "It is," says Angus, "in the description of the scenes in 
which they mingle, in the sketches of character, and in the most humorous 
dialogue in which the two heroes indulge that the power of the book consists." 

The meter is iambic tetrameter — that is, the octosyllabic line of the legends 
of the Round Table and of the old Norman romances — and is scanned thus : 
When civ'- | il dud'- | geon tirst' | grew high'.] 

I.— ACCOMPLISHMENTS OF HUDIBRAS. 

When civil dudgeon* first grew high, 
And men fell out they knew not why ; 
When hard words, jealousies, and fears 
Set folks together by the ears ; . . . 
When gospel-trumpeter, surrounded 
With long-eared rout, to battle sounded ; 



Notes. — Line i. dudgeon, fury. By 
" civil dudgeon " is meant the 
civil war which broke out in 
England in 1642, between Par- 
liament and Charles I. The 
parliamentarians, in general, be- 
longed to the Puritan or Presby- 
terian sect ; while the royalists, 
who called themselves Cava- 
liers, were Episcopalians. The 
conduct of the war on the side 
of Parliament soon fell into the 
hands of Oliver Cromwell, who 
carried it to a successful issue. 
Charles I. was executed in 1649, 
and Cromwell became Lord 
Protector of England ; but the 
house of Stuart was restored in 
1660 in the person of Charles 
II. 



2. they knew not why. This is, of course, 

a royalist view ; the stern Puri- 
tans thought they knew pretty 
well "why" they "fell out." 

3. hiii-d words. The reference is to the 

uncouth religious terms em- 
ployed by the Presbyterians. 

5- gospel-trumpeter. The reference is 
to the Puritan preachers, who, 
by their denunciations of royal- 
ty and episcopacy, did so much 
to bring about the state of things 
that precipitated the civil war. 

6. long-eared rout. "Rout" — crevi', 
set. The Puritans were called, 
in derision. Roundheads, on ac- 
count of their practice of crop- 
ping their hair short — a fashion 
which " made their ears appear 
to greater advantage." 



Literary Analysis. — i-io. When civil . . . a-colonelling. What kind of 
sentence is this rhetorically? — What effect is gained by employing the term 
" dudgeon," a word belonging to the diction of burlesque .^ 



EXTRACTS FROM HUDIBRAS. 



75 



And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, 
Was beat with fist instead of a stick ; 
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling. 
And out he rode a-colonelling. 

A wight* he was, whose very sight would 
Entitle him mirror of knighthood, 
That never bowed his stubborn knee 
To anything but chivalry. 
Nor put up blow but that which laid 
Right worshipful on shoulder-blade. 

We grant, although he had much wit, 
H' was very shy of using it. 
As being loath to wear it out. 
And therefore bore it not about, 
Unless on holidays or so. 
As men their best apparel do. 



7. drum ecclesiastic. Alluding to the 
vehement action of the Presby- 
terian preachers in the pulpit, 
which they were in the habit 
of pounding vigorously. 

9, 10. Sir Kiiig-lit . . . a-coIonelling-. "Sir 
Knight" is Sir Hudibras, the 
hero of the poem. The original 
is supposed to have been Sir 
Samuel Lake, in whose family 
Butler lived for some time after 
the civil war, and who was a 



colonel in the Parliamentary 
army. 

II. wiglit, person. 

13, 14. That never . . . chivalry : that is, 
he knelt to the king when he 
knighted him, but on no other 
occasion. 

15, 16. Nor put up blow, . . shouldei'-blade. 
" Put up " = p-j.it up with. The 
reference is to the blow the 
king laid on his shoulder with 
a sword when he was knishted. 



Literary Analysis. — 7. drum ecclesiastic. What figure is "drum ?" (See 
Def 20. y — Observe the mock-majesty of placing the epithet after the noun. 

7, 8. ecclesiastic ... a stick. It will be noted that each of these lines con- 
tains a redundant syllable ; or, in the language of prosody, they are hyper- 
luelers. — The speaking of "a sticlc" as one word with the stress upon a 
heightens the burlesque effect. 

II. wight. Does this word belong to the grave or the burlesque style? 
What term would probably be used in the grave style ? 

13. stubborn knee. Why "stubborn?" 

19. to wear it out. Observe how the image suggested by this phrase is 
carried out in the simile in the last part of the sentence. 



76 



BUTLER. 

Besides, 'tis known lie could speak Greek 
As naturally as pigs squeak ; 
That Latin was no more diiFicile 
Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle 
Being rich in both, he never scanted 
His bounty unto such as wanted ; 
But much of either would afford 
To many that had not one word. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

He was in logic a great critic, 

Profoundly skilled in analytic. 

He could distinguish and divide 

A hair 'twixt south and south-west side ; 

On either which he would dispute, 

Confute, change hands, and still confute. 

He'd undertake to prove by force 

Of argument a man's no horse ; 

He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, 

And that a lord may be an owl j 



25. difficile (pronouncech//^t '//<?), diffi- 
cult. 

30. had not one word: that is, did not 
know one word of Greek or 
Latin. 

32. analytic. " Analytic method takes 
the whole compound as it finds 
it, whether it be a species or an 
individual, and leads us into the 
knowledge of it by resolving it 
into its principles or parts, its 



generic nature and special prop- 
erties : this is called the method 
of resolution." — Dr. Watts : 
Logic. 

33' 34- He could . . . south-west side. 
The reference is to the subtle 
distinctions made by the class 
of philosophers called school- 
men. 

36. change hands: that is, take the 
other side of the arsrument. 



Literary Analysis.— 23-26. Besides . . . whistle. Point out the two lu- 
dicrous comparisons in this sentence. — How is the ridiculous effect heightened 
by the rhymes .'' 

34. A hair 'twixt south, etc. What term, expressing the idea in this sentence, 
do we often apply to a person who makes needlessly fine distinctions ? 

40. a lord may be an owl. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) 
What is the effect intended? (See Def 27.) 



EXTRACTS FROM HUDIBRAS. 

A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, 

And rooks committee-men and trustees. 

He'd run in debt by disputation, 

And pay with ratiocination. 

All this by syllogism, true 

In mood and figure, he would do. 

For rhetoric, he could not ope 

His mouth but out there flew a trope ; 

And when he happened to break off 

I' th' middle of his speech, or cough, 

H' had hard words ready to show why, 

And tell what rules he did it by ; 

Else, when with greatest art he spoke, 

You'd think he talked like other folk ; 

For all a rhetorician's rules 

Teach nothing but to name his tools. 

But when he pleased to show 't, his speech 

In loftiness of sound was rich — 

A Babylonish dialect 

Which learned pedants * much affect : 



11 



42. committee-men. During the English 
civil war there were formed, in 
several counties siding with Par- 
liament, committees composed 
of such men as were for the 
" good cause," as it was called. 

44. ratiocination, formal reasoning. 

45. syllogism, the regular logical form 

of every argument, consisting 
of three propositions, of which 
the first two are called /?r;«w^j-, 
and the last the conclusion. 



46. In mood and flg-ure. " Mood " and 

" figure " have reference to the 
nature and the order of the 
three propositions in a syllo- 
gism. 

47. ope = open. 

48. trope, a certain class of figures of 

speech, as metaphor, synecdo- 
che, etc. 
59. Babylonish dialect, the sort of jargon 
spoken at Babel after the con- 
fusion of tongues. 



Ln'ERARY Analysis. — 41,42. A calf. ..trustees. Supply the ellipsis in 
these lines. 

47-56. What two passages in this sentence are familiar quotations.' Is it 
true that the rules of sound rhetoric teach one "nothing but to name his 
tools ?" Do they not also teach how to handle these tools .^ 

59. dialect. What is the grammatical construction of " dialect.'" 



78 



BUTLER. 



It was a parti-colored dress 

Of patched and piebald* languages ; 

'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin, 

Like fustian* heretofore on satin. 

It had an odd promiscuous tone, 

As if h' had talked three parts in one ; 

Which made some think when he did gabble 

H' had heard three laborers of Babel, 

Or Cerberus* himself pronounce 

A leash of languages at once. 

This he as volubly would vent 

As if his stock would ne'er be spent ; 

And truly to support that charge, 

He had supplies as vast and large ; 



6i. parti-colored, colored part by part, 
having various tints and colors. 

62. piebald, diversified in color. 

63. English . . . Latin. The leading 

men of those times were fond 
of appearing learned, and com- 
monly mixed Latin and even 
Greek terms and phrases with 
their speech. This was es- 
pecially the case with the coun- 
try justices, of whom Hudibras 
was one. 

64. Like fustian . . . satin: that is, like 

the fashion which formerly 
( " heretofore " ) prevailed of 
pinking or cutting holes in 



fustian (a coarse twilled cotton 
stuff), that the satin in a gar- 
ment might appear through it. 
66. three parts. The expression al- 
ludes to the old musical catches 
in three parts. 

69. Cerberus, the three-headed dog at 

the entrance to Hades. 

70. leash, literally a rope. In the 

technical language of hunting, 
it signifies three greyhounds, 
or three creatures of any kind, 
the hounds in hunting having 
been in former times held with 
a rope or string. 
73. charge, burden, duty. 



dress. What is the figure of speech .'' 



Literary Analysis.— 61. it was . 
(See Def. 20.) 

63, 64. Observe how the specific illustrations in these lines carry out the 
general idea in lines 61 and 62. 

64. Like fustian, etc. Explain the comparison. 

69. What apposite classical reference is made in this line? 



EXTRACTS FROM HUDIBRAS. 



79 



For he could coin or counterfeit 
New words, with Httle or no wit — 
Words so debased and hard, no stone 
Was hard enough to touch them on ; 
And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em, 
The ignorant for current took 'em. 
That had the orator who once 
Did fill his mouth with pebble-stones 
When he harangued but known his phrase, 
He would have used no other ways. 
In mathematics he was greater 
Than Tycho Brahe or Erra Pater ; 
For he, by geometric scale. 
Could take the size of pots of ale ; 
Resolve by sines and tangents, straight. 
If bread or butter wanted weight ; 
And wisely tell what hour o' th' day 
The clock does strike, by algebra. 



75, 76. he could . . . words. The Pres- 

byterians coined a great num- 
ber, such as out-goings, carry- 
ings-on, workings-out, gospel- 
walking-times, etc. 

76, wit, sense. 

81, 82. the orator. . . pebble-stones. The 
allusion is to Demosthenes, who, 
to remedy a defect in his articu- 
lation, put pebble-stones in his 
mouth while practising in speak- 
ing. 

77, 78, 80. no stone . . . touch them on . • . 

current. The meaning is that 
there was no touchstone (a stone 
on which gold and silver were 
tested) fit to test these "new 



words," these counterfeits. 
They therefore passed as " cur- 
rent," that is, as current coin, 
currency. 

83. his phrase: that is, Hudibras's dic- 
tion. 

86. Tycho Brahe (1546-1601), an emi- 
nent Danish astronomer. By 
Erra Pater (the name of an old 
astrologer) is meant William 
Lilly, also an astrologer and a 
contemporary of Butler's. 

88. Could . . . ale. As a justice of the 

peace he had a right to inspect 
weights and measures. 

89. sines and tangents, terms of trigo- 

nometry. 



Literary Analysis. — 75-80. For he could coin . . . took 'em. Show the 
felicitous manner in which the metaphor in this passage is carried out. 

85-92. In mathematics . . . algebra. By what device does the author contrive 
to convey an exceedingly ludicrous idea of Hudibras's mathematical attain- 
ments ? 



8o BUTLER. 

Besides, he was a shrewd philosopher 
And had read every text and gloss over- 
Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath 
He understood b' implicit faith ; 
Whatever sceptic could inquire for, 
For every why he had a wherefore ; 
Knew more than forty of them do. 
As far as words and terms could go ; 
All which he understood by rote, 
And as occasion served would quote : 
No matter whether right or wrong, 
They might be either said or sung. 
His notions fitted things so well 
That which was which he could not tell. 
But oftentimes mistook the one 
For th' other, as great clerks have done. 
He could reduce all things to acts, 
And knew their natures by abstracts ; 
Where entity and quiddity, 
The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly ; 
Where Truth in person does appear. 
Like words congealed in northern air. 



94. gloss, a commentary. j ill. entity and quitldit}'. The school- 

95- crabbed'st author: that is, the au | men made fine distinctions be- 

thor the most difficult to be tween "entity" (essence) and 



understood. 

108. clerks, learned men. 

109, no. He could reduce . . . abstracts. 

"Acts," general notions; "ab- 
stracts," the results of the proc- 
ess of abstraction. The old phi- 
losophers pretended to extract 
notions or ideas out of things, 
as chemists extract spirits and 
essences. 



" quiddity " (nature), on the one 
hand, and substance on the 
other. The former two might 
remain when body had perished, 
and hence they were termed 
"the ghosts of defunct bodies." 
1 14. words congealed . . . air. The refer- 
ence is to a humorous account, 
published in Butler's time, of 
words freezing: in Nova Zembla. 



Literary Analysis. — 93, 94. Point out the hypermeters in these lines. 

109-116. He could ... fly. Point out the skilful manner in which Butler sat- 
irizes the philosophy of the schoolmen. 

111-I14. AVliere entity, etc. Of what verb understood are these two clauses 
the objects ? 

1 14. Like words . . • air. What is the figure of speech .'' (See Def. 19.) 



EXTRACTS FROM HUDIBRAS. 



8i 



He knew what's what, and that's as high 

As metaphysic wit * can fly. 

In school divinity as able 

As he that hight* irrefragable ; 

A second Thomas, or, at once 

To name them all, another Dunce ; 

Profound in all the nominal 

And real ways beyond them all; 

For he a rope of sand could twist 

As tough as learned Sorbonist, 

And weave fine cobwebs fit for skull 

That's empty when the moon is full — 

Such as take lodgings in a head 

That's to be let unfurnishe'd. 



Ii6. metaphysic wit, intellectual acu- 
men. 

117. seliool divinity, theology. 

118. hight, called. — irrefragable. The 

reference is to Alexander Hales 
(an English philosopher of the 
13th century), who was so deep- 
ly read in what was termed 
school ' divinity that he was 
called " Doctor Irrefragabilis," 
or the Irrefragable Doctor. 

119. A second Thomas. Thomas Aqui- 

nas (1224-1274), a schoolman, 
was one of the most learned 
men of his time. 

120. Dunce. Reference is made to 

Duns Scotus, a learned scholas- 
tic theologian, born in Dunse 
(Scotland), and died 1308. The 
English word dunce is derived 



from his name, and acquired its 
opprobrious meaning from its 
having been used as a term of 
reproach by his antagonists, 
who were the followers of 
Thomas Aquinas. 
121, 122. nominal and real way: that is, 
the ways of the nominalists and 
realists, two antagonistic schools 
into which the mediaeval meta- 
physicians were divided. 

124. Sorbonist, a member of the cele- 

brated French college of the 
Sorbonne, founded in the reign 
of St. Louis by Robert Sorbon. 

125, 126. fit for skull . . . full. It was 

an old notion that lunatics {hma, 
the moon) were liable to be cra- 
zier than common at the full of 
the moon. 



Literary Analysis. — 117-128. In school divinity . . . unfurnished. Point 
out any satirical expressions in this description of the theology of the school- 
men. 

125. weave fine cobwebs. What is the figure of speech } (See Def. 20.) 
127, 128. in a head . . . unfurnished. Explain this expression. 

6 



BUTLER. 



II.— RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS. 

For his religion, it was fit 
To matcli his learning and his wit : 
'Twas Presbyterian true blue ; 
For he was of that stubborn crew 
Of errant* saints, whom all men grant 
To be the true church militant- 
Such as do build their faith upon 
The holy text of pike and gun ; 
Decide all controversies by 
Infallible artillery ; 
And prove their doctrine orthodox 
By apostolic blows and knocks ; 
Call fire and sword and desolation 
A godly thorough reformation. 
Which always must be carried on. 
And still be doing, never done ; 
As if religion were intended 
For nothing else but to be mended — 
A sect whose chief devotion lies 
In odd perverse antipathies ; 
In falling out with that or this, 
And finding somewhat still amiss ; 
More peevish, cross, and splenetic 
Than dog distract or monkey sick ; 
That with more care keep holiday 
The wrong, than others the right, way ; 
Compound for sins they are inclined to 
By damning those they have no mind to. 
Still so perverse and opposite, 
As if they worshipped God for spite ; 



133. errant saints: that is, the Presby- 
terians. 

147-170. A sect . . . nose. The relig- 
ion of the Presbyterians in those 
times was accused of consisting 
principally in an opposition to 



the Church of England and to 
its most innocent customs, as, 
for example, the eating of Christ- 
mas pies and plum porridge at 
Christmas,which they (the Pres- 
byterians) deemed sinful. 



EXTRACTS FROM HUD IB R AS. 83 

The self-same thing they will abhor 

One way, and long another for : 160 

Free-will they one way disavow, 

Another nothing else allow ; 

All piety consists therein 

In them, in other men all sin ; 

Rather than fail, they will defy 165 

That which they love most tenderly ; 

Quarrel with minced pies, and disparage 

Their best and dearest friend — plmn porridge ; 

Fat pig and goose itself oppose. 

And blaspheme custard through the nose. 170 

Th' apostles of this fierce religion. 

Like Mahomet's, were ass and widgeon, 

To whom our knight, by fast instinct 

Of wit and temper, was so linked, 

As if hypocrisy and nonsense 175 

Had £ot th' advowson of his conscience. 



172. TTere ass and -widgeon. The author! geon " (pidgeon) which figure 

intends to stigmatize the Pres- | in the history of Mahomet. 



byterians as foolish persons ; 
but the words also contain an 
allusion to a mule and a " wid- 



176. advowson of his conscience: that is, 
the patronage or the control of 
his conscience. 



V. 



JOHN BUNYAN. 



1628-1688. 




^ 



^. 



ycA<^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY TAINE.' 

I. After the Bible, the book most widely read in England is 
the Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan. The reason is that the 
basis of Protestantism is the doctrine of salvation by grace, and 

' History of English Literature, by H. A. Taine, translated by Van Laim, 
vol. i. p. 398 et seq. 



TAINE'S CHARACTERIZATION OF BUNYAN. 



85 



that no writer has equalled Bunyan in making this doctrine un- 
derstood. 

2. To treat well of supernatural impressions, one must have 
been subject to them. Bunyan had that kind of imagination 
which produces them. Powerful as that of an artist, but more 
vehement, this imagination worked in the man without his co- 
operation, and besieged him with visions which he had neither 
willed nor foreseen. From that moment there was in him, as it 
were, a second self, dominating the first, grand and terrible, whose 
apparitions were sudden; its motions unknown; which redoubled 
or crushed his faculties, prostrated or transported him, bathed 
him in the sweat of anguish, ravished him with trances of joy ; 
and which by its force, strangeness, independence, impressed 
upon him the presence and the action of a foreign and superior 
master. 

3. Bunyan was born in the lowest and most despised rank, a 
tinker's son ; himself a wandering tinker, with a wife as poor as 
himself, so that they had not a spoon or a dish between them. 
He had been taught in childhood to read and write, but he had 
since "almost wholly lost what he had learned." Education 
drav/s out and disciplines a man ; fills him with varied and ra- 
tional ideas ; prevents him from sinking into monomania, or be- 
ing excited by transport ; gives him determinate thoughts instead 
of eccentric fancies, pliable opinions for fixed convictions ; re- 
places impetuous images by calm reasonings, sudden resolves by 
results of reflection ; furnishes us with the wisdom and ideas of 
others ; gives us conscience and self-command. Suppress this 
reason and this discipline, and consider the poor workingman at 
his work. His head works while his hands work — not ably, with 
methods acquired from any logic he might have mustered, but 
with dark emotions, beneath a disorderly flow of confused images. 
Morning and evening, the hammer which he uses in his trade 
drives in with its deafening sounds the same thought, perpetu- 
ally returning and self-communing. A troubled, obstinate vision 
floats before him in the brightness of the hammered and quiver- 
ing metal. In the red furnace where the iron is bubbling, in the 
clang of the hammered brass, in the black corners where the 
damp shadow creeps, he sees the flame and darkness of hell, and 
hears the rattling of eternal chains. Next day he sees the same 



86 BUNYAN. 

image; the day after, the whole week, month, year. During his 
long solitary wanderings over wild heaths, in cursed and haunted 
bogs, always abandoned to his own thoughts, the inevitable idea 
pursues him. These neglected roads where he sticks in the 
mud; these sluggish rivers which he crosses on the cranky ferry- 
boat; these threatening whispers of the woods at night, where in 
perilous places the livid moon shadows out ambushed forms — all 
that he sees and hears falls into an involuntary poem around 
the one absorbing idea. Thus it changes into a vast body of 
sensible legends, and multiplies its power as it multiplies its de- 
tails. 

4. Having become a dissenter, Bunyan is shut up for twelve 
years, having no other amusement than the Book of Martyrs and 
the Bible, in one of those infectious prisons where the Puritans 
rotted under the Restoration. There he is, still alone, thrown 
back upon himself by the monotony of his dungeon, besieged 
with the terrors of the Old Testament, by the vengeful outpour- 
ings or denunciations of the prophets, by the thunder-striking 
words of Paul, by the spectacle of trances and of martyrs, face to 
face with God ; now in despair, now consoled ; troubled with in- 
voluntary images and unlooked-for emotions, seeing alternately 
devil and angels, the actor and the witness of an internal drama, 
whose vicissitudes he is able to relate. He writes them — it is 
his book. You see now the condition of this inflamed brain. 
Poor in ideas, full of images, given up to a fixed and single 
thought, plunged into this thought by his mechanical pursuit, by 
his prison and his readings, by his knowledge and his ignorance, 
circumstances, like nature, make him a visionary and an artist, 
furnish him with supernatural impressions and sensible images, 
teaching him the history of grace and the means of expressing it. 

5. Allegory, the most artificial kind, is natural to Bunyan. If 
he employs it throughout, it is from necessity, not choice. As 
children, countrymen, and all uncultivated minds, he transforms 
arguments into parables ; he only grasps truth when it is made 
simple by images ; abstract terms elude him ; he must touch 
forms, and contemplate colors. His repetitions, embarrassed 
phrases, familiar comparisons, his frank style, whose awkward- 
ness recalls the childish periods of Herodotus, and whose light- 
heartedness recalls tales for children, prove that if his work is 



TAINE'S CHARACTERIZATION OF BUNYAN. 87 

allegorical, it is so in order that it may be intelligible, and that 
Bunyan is a poet because he is a child. 

6. Again, under his simplicity you will find power, and in his 
puerility intuition. These allegories are hallucinations as clear, 
complete, and sound as ordinary perceptions. No one but 
Spenser is so lucid. He distinguishes and arranges all the 
parts of the landscape — here the river, on the right the castle, 
a flag on its left turret, the setting sun three feet lower, an oval 
cloud in the front part of the sky — with the preciseness of a car- 
penter. Dialogues flow from his pen as in a dream. He does 
not seem to be thinking ; we should even say that he was not 
himself there. Events and speeches seem to grow and dispose 
themselves within him independently of his will. Nothing, as a 
rule, is colder than are the characters in an allegory. His are 
living. Looking upon these details, so small and familiar, illu- 
sion gains upon us. Giant Despair, a simple abstraction, be- 
comes as real in his hands as an English jailer or farmer. 

7. Bunyan has the freedom, the tone, the ease, and the clear- 
ness of Homer. He is as close to Homer as an Anabaptist 
tinker could be to an heroic singer, a creator of gods. I err ; he 
is nearer : before the sentiment of the sublime, inequalities are 
levelled. The depth of emotion raises peasant and poet to the 
same eminence ; and here, also, allegory stands the peasant in 
stead. It alone, in the absence of ecstasy, can paint heaven ; 
for it does not pretend to paint it. Expressing it by a figure, it 
declares it invisible as a glowing sun at which we cannot look 
full, and whose image we observe in a mirror or a stream. The 
ineffable world thus retains all its mystery. Warned by the al- 
legory, we imagine splendors beyond all which it presents to us. 

8. Bunyan was imprisoned for twelve years and a half. In his 
dungeon he made laces to support himself and his family. He 
died at the age of sixty in 1688. At the same time, Milton lin- 
gered obscure and blind. The last two poets of the Reforma- 
tion thus survived amid the classical coldness which then dried 
up English literature, and the social excess which then corrupted 
English morals. 



BUNYAN. 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 

[Introduction. — The following extract forms the last chapter of the Pil- 
grim's Progress, characterized by Macaulay as " the only work of its kind 
[the allegorical] which possesses a strong human interest." The full title of 
the work is, T/ie Pilgrim'' s Progress from this World to that which is to Co7tie, 
delivered render the Similitude of a Dream. It was written by Bunyan while 
imprisoned in Bedford (England) jail, where he was confined for more than 
twelve years (1660-1672) for holding religious meetings at which he preached 
as a dissenting minister. The first edition of the first part of the Pilgrirn's 
Progress was published in 1678. The subsequent editions of the Progress 
have been innumerable, and it is said to have been translated into more lan- 
guages than any other book except the Bible.] 

T. Now I saw in my dream that by this time the pilgrims* 
were got over the Enchanted Ground ; and, entering into the 
country of Beulah, whose air was very sweet and pleasant, the 
way lying directly through it, they solaced themselves there for a 
season. Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds. 



Notes. — Line i. in my dream. The 
whole "progress," or journey, 
of the Pilgrim is represented by 
Bunyan " under the similitude 
of a dream." (See Pilgrim's 
Progress, chap, i.) 

2. Enclianted Ground. In the geogra- 
phy of the Pilgrim the Enchant- 
ed Ground lies immediately be- 
yond the Delectable Mountains, 
before which are, successively, 



Doubting Castle, the town of 
Vanity, the Valley of the Shad- 
ow of Death, the Valley of Hu- 
miliation, etc. 
3. country of Beulali. See Isaiah Ixii., 
4 : " Thou shalt be called 
Hephzi-bah, and thy land [shall 
be called] Beidahy The mar- 
ginal reference in the English 
version translates the Hebrew 
term Beulah mariied. 



Literary Analysis. — To what class of literary productions does the Pil- 
grim'' s Progress belong,? Ans. It belongs to the class of allegories. — Define 
the figure allegory. (See Def. 21.) — What are some other famous allegories 
in the English language ? 

i-ii. Of how many sentences does paragraph i consist? — To which class 
grammatically does each sentence belong? — How many members (indepen- 
dent propositions) in the first sentence? In the second? In the third .? — The 
three sentences are of the same kind rhetorically considered : are they periods 
or loose sentences? — Of the 116 words in this paragraph, 82 per cent, are of 
Anglo-Saxon origin: select the other 21 words. 

2. were got. Remark on this grammatical construction. See page 5, note 
12 of this book. 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 89 

and saw every day the flowers appear in the earth, and heard the 
voice of the turtle in the land. In this country the sun shineth 
night and day : wherefore it was beyond the Valley of the Shad- 
ow of Death, and also out of the reach of the Giant Despair ; 
neither could they from this place so much as see Doubting 10 
Castle. 

2. Here they were within sight of the city they were going to ; 
also, here met them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in this 
land the shining ones commonly walked, because it was upon the 
borders of Heaven. In this land, also, the contract* between 15 
the bride and bridegroom* was renewed. Yea, here as the bride- 
groom rejoiceth over the bride, so did their God rejoice over 



7. Toice of the turtle. See Song of 

Solomon ii., 12 : "And the 
voice of the turtle is heard in our 
land." turtle = turtle-dove. 

8, 9. Valley of the Shadow of Death. By 

this expression is not meant 
death itself, but a state of great 
spiritual depression. Christian, 
the hero of the Pilgrinis Trog- 
ress, is represented as sorely 
distressed in this vallej', but as 
passing through it unhurt. The 
Valley of the Shadow of Death 
was at the end of the Valley of 
Humiliation. 
9-1 1. Giant Despair . . . Doubling Castle. 
In chap. XV. of the Pilgrivi's 



Progress, an account is given of 
how Christian and his compan- 
ion Hopeful mistook their way 
after leaving the town of Vanity 
(which they reached after pass- 
ing through the Valley of the 
Shadow of Death), and fell 
asleep near " Doubting Castle, 
the owner whereof was Giant 
Despair." By him they were 
thrown into a dungeon ; but at 
last they made their escape, and 
then went on to the Delectable 
Mountains. 

sihining' ones. See Luke xxiv., 4. 

17. bridegroom rejoiceth. See Isaiah 
Ixii., 5. 



Literary Analysis. — 12-24. Here ... out, etc. One of the sentences in 
paragraph 2 is a period : which is the sentence .'' — Note the use of " here " as 
the introductory word of several of the sentences: is the order of these words 
the common or the rhetorical order ? (See Def. 43.) — Give synonyms of the 
following words used in paragraph 2 : "contract" (15) ; "abundance" (19); 
" pilgrimage " (20). 

12. the city tliey were going to. Is this the literary or the conversational 
form of expression ? Change to the literary order. 

13. here met them, etc. Remark on the order of the words. 
16. bridegroom. What is the derivation of this word? 



9° 



BUNYAN. 



them. Here they had no want of corn * and wine ; for in this 
place they met abundance* of what they had sought for in all 
their pilgrimage. Here they heard voices from out of the city, 20 
loud voices, saying, " Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, 
thy salvation cometh ! Behold, his reward is with him !" Here 
all the inhabitants of the country called them " the holy people, 
the redeemed of the Lord, sought out," etc. 

3. Now, as they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing 25 
than in parts more remote from the kingdom to which they were 
bound. And drawing nearer to the city yet, they had a more 
perfect view thereof. It was built of pearls and precious stones ; 
also the streets thereof were paved with gold ; so that by rea- 
son of the natural glory of the city, and the reflection of the sun- 30 
beams upon it, Christian with desire fell sick. Hopeful, also, had 

a fit or two of the same disease ; wherefore here they lay by it 
awhile, crying out because of their pangs, " If you see my Be- 
loved, tell him that I am sick of love." 

4. But being a little strengthened, and better able to bear their 35 
sickness, they walked on their way, and came yet nearer and 
nearer, where were orchards,* vineyards, and gardens, and their 
gates opened into the highway. Now, as they came up to these 
places, behold the gardener stood in the way, to whom the pil- 
grims said, " Whose goodly vineyards and gardens are these ?" 40 
He answered, " They are the King's, and are planted here for 
his own delight, and also for the solace of pilgrims." So the 



18. corn and wine. See Isaiah Ixii., 8, 

9. — corn = wheat. 
32. lay by it = lay by, rested. The 

"it" here is indefinite, and is 



in the same construction as in 
" trip it " (Milton). 
34. sicli of love = love-sick. See Song 
of Solomon v., 8. 



Literary Analysis.— 18. liad no want, etc. What is the figure of speech 
here ? (See Def. 31.) 

20, 21. voices . . . loiul voices. Observe the fine effect of the repetition of 
"voices." 

23. called them the holy people. Give syntax of " them ;" of " people." 

25~34- NoAT, as they walked . . . love. How many sentences in paragraph 3 ? 
To what class, grammatically and rhetorically considered, does each belong. 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 



91 



gardener had them into the vineyards, and had them refresh 
themselves with the dainties. He also showed them there the 
King's walks and arbors, where he delighted to be. And here 45 
they tarried and slept. 

5. Now I beheld in my dream that they talked more in their 
sleep at this time than they ever did in all their journey ; and 
being in a muse* thereabout, the gardener said even to nie, 

" Wherefore jnusest thou at the matter ? It is the nature of the 5° 
fruit of the grapes of these vineyards to go down so sweetly as 
to cause the lips of them that are asleep to speak." 

6. So I saw that when they awoke they addressed* themselves 
to go up to the city. But, as I said, the reflection of the sun 
upon the city — for the city was pure gold — was so extremely 55 
glorious that they could not as yet with open face behold it, but 
through an instrument made for that purpose. So I saw that, as 
they went on, there met them two men in raiment that shone like 
gold ; also their faces shone as the light. 

7. These men asked the pilgrims whence they came .'' and they 60 
told them. They also asked them where they had lodged, what 
dangers and difficulties, what comforts and pleasures, they had 
met with in the way ? and they told them. Then said the men 



43. had them into the ylneyards : that is, 
caused them to go, conducted 
them. — had them refresh: that 
is, caused them to refresh. In 
this instance, as in the preced- 
ing, "had" is a principal, not 
an auxiliary, verb, and the use 
of the word is idiomatic. 

49. ill a muse = in deep thought. 



51, 52. go down so sweetly . . . speak. 

See Song of Solomon vii., 9. 
53- addressed themselves: that is, pre- 
pared themselves. 

55. pure gold. " And the city was pure 

gold, like unto clear glass." — 
Revelation xxi., 18. 

56, 57- ^vith open face , . . instrument. 

See 2 Corinthians iii., 18. 



Literary Analysis. — 49. muse. Give the derivation of this word. 
50-52. It is the nfiture . , . speak. Remark on the form of statement in this 
sentence. For what logical subject does the anticipative subject " it " stand ? 
53-59- So I saw . . . light. Point out a periodic sentence in paragraph 6. 
53, 54- So I saw . . . city. Analyze this sentence. 
56. but. What part of speech is " but " here ? 
57~59- So I saw . . . light. What simile in this sentence.'' 



g2 BUNYAN. 

that had met them, " You have but two difficulties more to meet 
with, and then you are in the city." 6^ 

8. Christian, then, and his companion asked the men to go 
along with them; so they told them that they would. "But," 
said they, " you must obtain it by your own faith." So I saw in 
my dream that they went on together till they came in sight of 
the gate. 7° 

9. Now I further saw that betwixt* them and the gate was a 
river, but there was no bridge to go over, and the river was very 
deep. At the sight, therefore, of this river the pilgrims were 
much stunned ; but the men that went with them said, " You 
must go through, or you cannot come at the gate." 75 

ID. The pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no other 
way to the gate ? To which they answered, " Yes ; but there hath 
not any, save two, to wit, Enoch and Elijah, been permitted to 
tread that path since the foundation of the world, nor shall, until 
the last trumpet shall sound. Then the pilgrims — especially so 
Christian — began to despond in their minds, and looked this 
way and that ; but no way could be found by them by which they 
could escape the river. Then they asked the men if the waters 
were all of a depth ? They said, " No ;" yet they could not help 
them in that case : "for," said they, "you shall find it deeper or 85 
shallower, as you believe in the King of the place." 

II. They then addressed themselves to the water, and enter- 
ing, Christian began to sink, and, crying out to his good friend 
Hopeful, he said, " I sink in deep waters, the billows go over my 
head, all the waters go over me • Selah."* Then said the other, 90 
" Be of good cheer, my brother ; I feel the bottom, and it is 



75. come at = come to, reach. 



Literary Analysis. — 64. but. What part of speech is " but " here ? 

72. no bridge to go over. Supply the ellipsis. 

77,78. there hath not ... permitted. Remark on this construction, and 
change the form of expression. 

81. despond in their minds. Query as to any redundancy in this expression. 

87. Give the derivation of the following words in paragraph ^i : "com- 
passed" (93); "discover" (99); "hobgoblins" (105). 

89. Hopeful. What is the syntax of this word.'' 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 



93 



good." Then said Christian, "Ah! my friend, the sorrows of 
death have compassed * me about. I shall not see the land that 
flows with milk and honey." And with that a great darkness 
and horror fell upon Christian, so 'that he could not see before 95 
him. Also he, in a great measure, lost his senses, so that he 
could neither remember nor orderly talk of any of those sweet 
refreshments that he had met with in the way of his pilgrimage. 
But all the words that he spake still tended to discover * that he 
had horror of mind and heart-fears that he should die in that 100 
river and never obtain entrance in at the gate. Here, also, as 
they that stood by perceived, he was much in the troublesome 
thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since and be- 
fore he began as a pilgrim. It was also perceived that he was 
troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins * and evil spirits ; for 105 
ever and anon he would intimate so much by words. Hopeful, 
therefore, had much ado * to keep his brother's head above 
water. Yea^ he would sometimes be quite gone down, and then, 
ere a while, he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful did also 
endeavor to comfort him, saying, "Brother, I see the gate, and no 
men standing by to receive us." But Christian would answer, 
" It is you, it is you that they wait for. You have been hopeful 
ever since I knew you." "And so have you," he said to Chris- 
tian. "Ah, brother," said he, "surely, if I was right. He would 
now rise to help me ; but for my sins He hath brought me into 115 
the snare and left me." Then said Hopeful, " My brother, you 
have quite forgot the text, where it is said of the wicked, ' There 
are no bands in their death, but their strength is firm ; they are 



99- to discoTcr, to show. | 118. bands — bonds. 



Literary Analysis. — 93, 94. I shall not . . . honey. Analyze this sentence. 

99. discoTcr. Distinguish between the signification of "discover" as used 
by Bunyan and its modern meaning, and trace the steps in the change. 

102, 103. he was much in the troublesome thoughts. Modernize this form of 
expression. 

107. ado. Give the derivation of this word. 

107, 108. to keep . . . water. Adverbial phrase (purpose), modifying what 
verb ? 

109. ere a while. Explain this phrase. 

112. hopeful. Do you suppose this to be intended as a pun } 

117. forgot. Query as to this form. 



94 



BUNYAN. 



not troubled as other men, neither are they plagued like other . 
men.' These troubles and distresses that you go through in 120 
these waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you, but are sent 
to try you whether you will call to mind that which heretofore 
you have received of his goodness and live upon him in your dis- 
tresses." 

12. Then I saw in my dream that Christian was in a muse a 125 
while. To whom, also, Hopeful added these words : " Be of 
good cheer; Jesus Christ maketh thee whole." And with that 
Christian brake out with a loud voice, " Oh ! I see him again, 
and he tells me, ' When thou passest through the waters, I will 
be with thee, and through the rivers they shall not overflow 130 
thee.' " Then they both took courage, and the enemy was after 
that as still as a stone, until they were gone over. Christian, 
therefore, presently found ground to stand upon, and so it fol- 
lowed that the rest of the river was but shallow. Thus they got 
over. 135 

r3. Now, upon the bank of the river, on the other side, they 
saw the two Shining Men again, who there waited for them. 
Wherefore, being come out of the river, they saluted them, say- 
ing, " We are ministering spirits, sent forth to minister * to those 
that shall be heirs of salvation." Thus they went along towards 140 
the gate. 

14. Now you must note that the city stood upon a mighty hill ; 
but the pilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they had 
these two men to lead them up by the arms. They had likewise 
left their mortal * garments behind them in the river ; for though 145 



128. brake = broke. 

132. were gone. See note 12, page 

6. 
137. Shining Men. See lines 58, 59. 



139. ministering spirits. See Hebrews 

i., 14. 
145. their mortal garments : that is, 

tlieir bodies. 



Literary Analysis. — 122. call to mind. Substitute a single word for 
these three. 

123, 124. distresses. Give as many synonyms of this word as you can. 

125. was in a muse. Substitute a single-word verb. 

125-135- Then . . . over. How many sentences in paragraph 12 ? — State the 
grammatical class of each sentence. — Is there any period in the paragraph ? — 
Point out a simile in this paragraph. 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 



95 



they went in with them, they came out witliout tliem. They 
therefore went up here witli much agility and speed, though the 
foundation upon which the city was framed was higlier than the 
clouds. Tliey tlierefore went up through the region of the air, 
sweetly talking as they went, being comforted because they safe- 150 
ly got over the river and had such glorious companions to attend 
them. 

15. The talk that they had with the Shining Ones was about 
the glory of the place, who told them that the beauty and glory 
of it was inexpressible. "There," said they, "is Mount Sion, 15s 
the heavenly Jerusalem, the innumerable company of angels, and 
the spirits of just men made perfect. You are going now," said 
they, " to the paradise * of God, wherein you shall see the tree 
of life, and eat of the never-fading fruits thereof • and when you 
come there, you shall have white robes given you, and your walk 160 
and talk shall be every clay with the King, even all the days of 
eternity. There you shall not see again such things as you saw 
when you were in the lower region upon the earth — to wit, sor- 
row, sickness, affliction, and death ; for the former things are 
passed away. You are now going to Abraham, to Isaac, and to 165 
Jacob, and to the prophets, men that God hath taken away from 



155-157. There . . • perfect. For the 
source of the terms and phrases 
here used by Bunyau, see He- 
brews xxii., 22, 23. 

158, 159. paradise . . . tree of life. " To 
him that overcometh will I give 
to eat of the ti-ee of life, which 



is in the midst of the paradise 
of God." — See Revelation ii., 

7- 
160. wliite robes. "What are these 
which are arrayed in ivhite 
robes V — See Revelation vii., 
13- 



Literary Analysis. — 147. agility and speed. Which of these words is of 
Latin and which of Anglo-Saxon origin ? 

150, 151. safely got. Remark on the position of the adverb. 

153-155. Tlie tallc . . . inexpressible. Note the mode in which the members 
of this sentence are loosely joined by the relative pronoun " who." Express 
the thought in a more modern manner. 

154, 155. beiiuty and glory. . . was. How may the singular number of the 
verb be justified here .'' 

155. There ... is. What is the logical subject of "is." Hence in what 
number should the verb be .'' 



g5 BUNYAN. 

the evil to come, and that are now ' resting upon their beds, each 
one walking in his uprightness.' " The men then asked, "What 
must we do in the holy place ?" To whom it was answered, " You 
must there receive the comforts of all your toil, and have joy 170 
for all your sorrow ; you must reap what you have sown, even 
the fruit of all your prayers, and tears, and sufferings for the 
King by the way. In that place you must wear crowns of gold, 
and enjoy the perpetual sight and vision of the Holy One ; for 
there you shall see him as he is. There also you shall serve 175 
him continually with praise, with shouting and thanksgiving, 
whom you desired to serve in the world, though with much dififi- 
culty, because of the infirmity of your flesh. There your eyes 
shall be delighted with seeing, and your ears with hearing the 
pleasant voice of the Mighty One. There you shall enjoy your iSo 
friends again that are gone thither before you ; and there you 
shall with joy receive even every one that follovveth into the holy 
place after you. There also you shall be clothed with glory and 
majesty, and put into an equipage fit to ride out with the King 
of Glory. When he shall come with sound of trumpet in the 185 
clouds, as upon the wings of the wind, you shall come with him ; 
and when he shall sit upon the throne of judgment, you shall sit 
by him; yea, and when he shall pass sentence uJDon all the 
workers of iniquity, let them be angels or men, you also shall 
have a voice in that judgment, because they were his and your 190 
enemies. Also, when he shall again return to the city, you shall 
go, too, with sound of trumpet, and be ever with him." 

16. Now, while they were thus drawing towards the gate, be- 
hold, a company of the heavenly host came out to meet them ; 
to whom it was said by the other two Shining Ones, " These are 195 



167, 168. resting . . . uprightness. See Isaiah Ivii., 2. 



Literary Analysis. — 174. siglit and vision. Which of these words is of 
Anglo-Saxon and which of Latin origin ? — The use of a pair of synonymous 
words, one of Anglo-Saxon and the other of Latin origin, was common in the 
17th-century writers. 

175-178. There also. . . flesh. Transpose this sentence so as to bring the 
relative pronoun "whom" nearer to its antecedent. 

179. seeing. What words must be understood as the object of "seeing?" 
Rewrite the sentence, fully expressing the thought. 



THE GOLDEN CITY. 



97 



the men that have loved our Lord when they were in the world, 
and that have left all for his holy name ; and he hath sent us 
to fetch them, and we have brought them thus far on their de- 
sired journey that they may go in, and look their Redeemer in 
the face with joy." Then the heavenly host gave a great shout, 200' 
saying, " Blessed are they that are called to the marriage supper 
of the Lamb." There came out also, at this time, to meet them 
several of the King's trumpeters, clothed in white and shining 
raiment, who, with melodious noises and loud, made even the 
heavens to echo with their sound. These trumpeters saluted 205 
Christian and his fellow * with ten thousand welcomes from the 
world ; and this they did with shouting and sound of trumpet. 

17. This done, they compassed them round on every side. 
Some went before, some behind, and some on the right hand, 
some on the left (as it were, to guard them through the upper 210 
regions), continually sounding as they went, with melodious 
noise, in notes on high : so that the very sight was to them that 
could behold it as if heaven itself was come down to meet them. 
Thus, therefore, they walked on together j and, as they walked, 
ever and anon these trumpeters, even with joyful sound, would, 215 
by mixing their music with looks and gestures, still signify to 
Christian and his brother how welcome they were into their com- 
pany, and with what gladness they came to meet them. And 
now were these two men, as it were, in heaven before they came 
at it, being swallowed up with the sight of angels, and with hear- 220 
ing of their melodious notes. Here, also, they had the city itself 
in view, and thought they heard all the bells therein to ring to 
welcome them thereto. But, above all, the warm and joyful 



201. marriage supper, etc. See Reve- 
lation xix., 9. 
206. Ms fellow: that is, Hopeful. 
206, 207. welcomes from the world : that 



is, welcomes on their arrival 
from the world. 
220. at it = to it ; swallowed up, trans- 
ported. 



Literary Analysis. — 204. melodious noises and loud. Remark on the po- 
sition of the adjectives. Observe the expression " melodious noises." [This 
is an illustration of a form of antithesis to which the name oxymoro7i is some- 
times given. It unites words of contrary signification, and produces a seem- 
ing contradiction.] 

223-226. But above all . . . expressed. What kind of sentence is this gram- 
matically .? 

7 



oS . BUNYAN. 

thoughts that they had about their own dwelHng there with such 
company, and that for ever and ever — oh, by what tongue or pen 225 
can their glorious joy be expressed ! Thus they came up to the 
gate. 

18. Now, when they were come up to the gate, there was writ- 
ten over it in letters of gold, " Blessed are they that do His com- 
mandments, that they may have right to the tree of life, and may 230 
enter in through the gates into the city." 

19. Then I saw in my dream that the two Shining Men bade 
them call at the gate. The which when they did, some from 
above looked over the gate — to wit, Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, 
etc. — to whom it was said, "These pilgrims are come from the 235 
City of Destruction for the love that they bear to the King of 
this place ;" and then the pilgrims gave in unto them each man 
his certificate which they had received in the beginning. Those, 
therefore, were carried in to the King, who, when he had read 
them, said, "Where are the men?" To whom it was answered, 240 
" They are standing without the gate." The King then com- 
manded to open the gate, " that the righteous nation," said he, 

" that keepeth truth may enter in." 

20. Now I saw in my dream that these two men went in at the 
gate ; and, lo ! as they entered they were transfigured, and they 245 
had raiment put on that shone like gold. There were also that 
met them with harps and crowns, and gave them to them — the 
harps to praise withal,* and the crowns in token of honor. Then 



233- 



The wliicli. The use of the definite 
article with "which" originates 
in an ellipsis of a noun, "which" 
being primarily an indefinite ad- 
jective. Compare Fr. lequel. 
236. City of Destruction. The " City of 
Destruction" (the natural or 
unregenerate state of man) was 
the place vAence the Pilgrim 
set out on his progress. 



237. gave in, delivered. 

241. ivitliout the gate = outside of the 

gate. 

242, 243. righteous nation • . . may enter 

in. Isaiah xxvi., 2. 
247, 248. the harps to praise ivitlial. 
" Withal " (prep.) = with ; and, 
supplying the relative, the con- 
struction is " the harps with 
which to praise." 



Literary Analysis. — 232, 233. that the two . 
clause is this ? Of what verb is it the object ? 
245. transfigured. Give synonyms of this word. 



gate. What kmd of 



THE GOLDEN CITY. no 

I heard in my dream that all the bells in the city rang again for 
joy, and that it was said unto them, "Enter ye into the joy of 250 
your Lord." I also heard the men themselves that they sang 
with a loud voice, saying, " Blessing, and honor, and glory, and 
power be unto him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the 
Lamb, for ever and ever." 

21. Now, just as the gates were opened to let in the men, 1 255 
looked m after them, and behold, the city shone like the sun ; 
the streets also were paved with gold, and in them walked many 
men with crowns on their heads, palms in their hands, and 
golden harps, to sing praises withal. 

22. There Were also of them that had wings, and they answered 260 
one another without intermission, saying, " Holy, holy, holy is 
the Lord !" And after that, they shut up the gates ; which, when 

I had seen, I wished myself among them. * * * 

23. So I awoke ; and behold, it was a dream. 



254. for ever and eyer. See Rev. v., 13. | 260. of them: that is, some of them. 



Literary Analysis. — 250, 251. Enter ye into the joy of your Lord. Analyze 
this sentence. 

255-264. Now, just. . . dream. In the last three paragraphs, containing 103 
words, only six are of other than Anglo-Saxon origin ; which are these words.'' 



VI. 



JOHN DRYDEN. 

1631-1700. 




^p-on.: j^^^^^u. 



CHARACTERIZATION BY WALTER SCOTT.' 

I. If Dryden received but a slender share of the gifts of fort- 
une, it was amply made up to him in reputation. Even while a 
poet militant upon earth, he received no ordinary portion of that 

' From Life and Works of John Dryden, by Sir Walter Scott. 



SCOTT S CHARACTERIZATION OF DRYDEN. loi 

applause which is too often reserved for the "dull cold ear of 
death." He combated, it is true, but he conquered : and, in 
despite of faction, civil and religious ; of penury, and the con- 
tempt which follows it ; of degrading patronage and rejected 
solicitation, the name of Dryden was first in English literature. 

2. The distinguishing characteristic of Dryden 's genius seems 
to have been the power of reasoning and of expressing the re- 
sult in appropriate language. This may seem slender praise ; 
yet these were the talents which led Bacon into the recesses of 
philosophy, and conducted Newton to the cabinet of nature. 
The prose works of Dryden bear repeated evidence to his philo- 
sophical powers. Indeed, his early and poetical studies gave his 
researches somewhat too much of a metaphysical character ; and 
it was a consequence of his mental acuteness that his dramatic 
personages often philosophized or reasoned when they ought 
only to have felt. The more lofty, the fiercer, the more ambi- 
tious feelings seem also to have been his favorite studies. 

3. With this power Dryden's poetry was gifted in a degree sur- 
passing in modulated harmony that of all who had preceded him, 
and inferior to none that has since written English verse. He 
first showed that the English language was capable of uniting 
smoothness and strength. The hobbling verses of his predeces- 
sors were abandoned even by the lowest versifiers ; and by the 
force of his precept and example the meanest lampooners of the 
year seventeen hundred wrote smoother lines than Donne and 
Cowley, the chief poets of the earlier half of the seventeenth cen- 
tury. What was said of Rome adorned by Augustus has been, by 
Johnson, applied to English poetry improved by Dryden : that 
he found it of brick, and left it of marble. 

4. The satirical powers of Dryden were of the highest order. 
He draws his arrow to the head, and dismisses it straight upon 
his object of aim. In this walk he wrought almost as great a 
reformation as upon versification in general — a fact which will 
plainly appear if we consider that, before Dryden's time, satire 
bore the same reference to Absalom and Achitophel which an 
ode of Cowley bears to Alexander's Feast. But he and his 
imitators had adopted a metaphysical satire, as the poets in the 
earlier part of the century had created a metaphysical vein of 
serious poetry. Both required store of learning to supply the 



J02 DRYDEN. 

perpetual expenditure of extraordinary and far-fetched illustra- 
tion. The object of both was to combine and hunt down the 
strangest and most fanciful analogies ; and both held the atten- 
tion of the reader perpetually on the stretch, to keep up with the 
meaning of the author. There can be no doubt that this meta- 
physical vein was much better fitted for the burlesque than the 
sublime. Yet the perpetual scintillation of Butler's wit is too 
dazzling to be delightful ; and we can seldom read far in Hudi- 
bras without feeling more fatigue than pleasure. His fancy is 
employed with the profusion of a spendthrift, by whose eternal 
round of banqueting his guests are at length rather wearied out 
than regaled. Dryden was destined to correct this among other 
errors of his age ; to show the difference between burlesque and 
satire ; and to teach his successors in that species of assault 
rather to thrust than to flourish with their weapon. 

5. In lyrical poetry, Dryden must be allowed to have no equal. 
Alexander'' s Feast is sufficient to show his supremacy in that brill- 
iant department. In this exquisite production, he flung from 
him all the trappings with which his contemporaries had embar- 
rassed the ode. The language, lofty and striking as the ideas 
are, is equally simple and harmonious. Without far-fetched allu- 
sions or epithets or metaphors, the story is told as intelligibly as 
if it had been in the most humble prose. The change of tone in 
the harp of Timotheus regulates the measure and the melody 
and the language of every stanza. The hearer, while he is led 
on by the successive changes, experiences almost the feelings of 
the Macedonian and his peers ; nor is the splendid poem dis- 
graced by one word or line unworthy of it. . . . We listen for the 
completion of Dryden's stanza as for the explication of a diffi- 
cult passage in music ; and wild and lost as the sound appears, 
the ear is proportionably gratified by the unexpected ease with 
which harmony is extracted from discord and confusion. . . . 

6. Educated in a pedantic taste and a fanatical religion, Dry- 
den was destined, if not to give laws to the stage of England, at 
least to defend its liberties ; to improve burlesque into satire ; to 
teach posterity the powerful and varied poetical harmony of which 
their language was capable ; to give an example of the lyric ode 
of unapproached excellence ; and to leave to English literature 
a name second only to that of Milton and of Shakespeare. 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 



103 



I.— ALEXANDER'S FEAST; OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. 

[Introduction. — The ode entitled Alexander'' s Feast was written by Dry- 
den in 1697 for an English musical society that annually celebrated the festi- 
val of St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music.^ It was composed in a single 
night. Lord Bolingbroke states that Dryden said to him, when he called upon 
him one morning, " I have been up all night. My musical friends made me 
promise to write them an ode for their feast of St. Cecilia, and I was so struck 
with the subject which occurred to me that I could not leave it till I had com- 
pleted it. Here it is, finished at one sitting." Macaulay pronounces this ode 
Dryden's greatest work. " It is," he says, " the masterpiece of the second 
class of poetry, and ranks just below the great models of the first." Dryden 
himself, as it appears, shared this opinion. When Chief-justice Manlay, then 
a young lawyer, congratulated him on having produced " the finest and noblest 
ode that ever had been written in any language," " You are right, young gen- 
tleman," replied Dryden, "a nobler ode never tvas produced, nor ever will !'"'\ 



'Twas at the royal feast, for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son — 
Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 

On his imperial throne • 
His valiant peers were placed around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound, 
(So should desert in arms be crowned). 



Notes. — Line i. 'Twas at, etc. By 
poetic license Dryden opens 
with a bold ellipsis. To parse 
the passage, we must read some- 
what thus : " It. was at the royal 
feast on account of Persia won 
by Philip's warlike son that 
what follows happened." — for, 
on account of. 

2. Philip's warlike son. Alexander the 



Great (356-323 B.C.), son of 
Philip, King of Macedon. He 
conquered "the world" (Persia 
in B.C. 331,330). The "royal 
feast " took place at Persepolis, 
the capital of Persia. 
7. Tlieir brows, etc. At a Greek ban- 
quet the guests were garlanded 
with roses and myrtle leaves. 
(See Becker's Charides.) 



Literary Analysis. — 3, 4. Aloft . . . sate. Tr 
the prose order. 



■anspose these two lines into 

4. sate. Modernize. 

7. Their brows . . . bound. What kind of phrase is this ? 

' It should be remembered that the ode was designed to be set to music. 
This was done at the time, and also by Handel in 1736. 



I04 



DRYDEN. 



The lovely Thais by his side 
Sate, like a blooming Eastern bride, 
In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 
Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
None but the brave, 
None but the brave. 
None but the brave deserves the fair ! 



Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful quire, 
With flying fingers touched the lyre 
The trembling notes ascend the sky. 
And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above, 
(Such is the power of mighty Love.) 
A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 



9. Thais, a celebrated Athenian beau- 
ty and wit, the companion of 
Alexander, whom she accom- 
panied in his invasion of Persia. 
" Her name is best known by 
her having stimulated Alexan- 
der, during a festival at Persep- 
olis, to set fire to the palace 
of the Persian kings ; but this 
anecdote, immortalized as it has 
been by Dryden's famous ode 
[see lines 118-121], is, in all 
probability, a mere fable." 
(Smith's Classical Dictionary.') 



13. None. Literally no one. 

16. Tiino'tlieus : a celebrated Greek 

musician and a great favorite 

of Alexander. 

21. from Jove: that is, with Jove (Jupi- 

ter). 

22. seats. The plural form is a Latin- 

ism ; we should now use the 
singular number. 
24. A dragon's flery form, etc. The 
prose word-arrangement would 
be, "The god (Jupiter) belied 
(counterfeited) a dragon's fiery 
form." 



What is the figure of speech ? 
(See 



LiTKRARY Analysis. — 10. 8ate, like, etc. 
(See Def 19.) 

13-15. None but the braye . . . brave. What is the figure of speech? 
Def. 36.) — deserves. With what subject does this word agree ? 

16-20. Timotheus . . . inspire. Analyze this sentence. — Point out two ex- 
amples of the "historical present" tense. — What is the subject of "inspire.'" 

23. Such. What part of speech ? 

24. belied. What is the subject of " belied ?" 



ALEXANDER'S EEAST. 105 

Sublime on radiant spires he rode. 

T'^ -TT ^ -?i- 

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ; 
A present deity, they shout around ; 
A present deity, the vaulted roofs rebound. 

With ravished ears 

The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god. 

Affects to nod,* 
And seems to shake the spheres. 

3- 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung. 
Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young. 

The jolly god in triumph comes ; 

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ; 

Flushed with a purple grace 

He shows his honest* face : 
Now give the hautboys* breath ; he comes, he comes. 

Bacchus, ever fair and young. 
Drinking joys did first ordain ; 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 



25. spires (often incorrectly printed 40. hautboys, oboes. The hautboy, or 
spheres), spiral lines. j oboe, is a wind instrument of 



32. to nod : that is, to signify the will 
of the god (Jupiter) by nodding. 
35. Bacolnis. See p. 50, note 16. 
39. honest face = handsome face. 



music like the clarinet. 
41, 42. Bacchus . . . ordain : that is, 
Bacchus did first ordain drink- 
ing joys. 



Literary Analysis. — 25. on radiant spires. To what word is this expres- 
sion an adjunct .'' 

26. the lofty sound. What is meant by this expression ? 

27. A present deity. Supply the ellipsis. 

29-33. With ravished ears . . . spheres. Supply the ellipsis and analyze this 
sentence. 

34. suna:. What form should we now use.'' 

38. Flushed . . . grace. Explain this expression. 

39. honest. Justify, from its etymology, this use of the word. 



io6 



DRYDEN. 



Rich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure, 
Sweet is pleasure after pain. 



Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 5° 
The master saw the madness rise. 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And while he heaven and earth defied, 
Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 

He chose a mournful muse, ss 

Soft pity to infuse : 
He sung Darius great and good, 
By too severe a fate. 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, 

Fallen from his high estate, 60 

And weltering in his blood. 
Deserted at his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed, 



52. ardent, burning. 

55. muse, poetic subject. 

57. Darius: that is, Darius III., who 
was king of Persia at the time 
of Alexander's invasion. De- 



feated in the great battle of 
Arbela, he fled into Bactria, 
where he was betrayed by a 
treacherous satrap (see line 63) 
and murdered. 



Literary Analysis. — 45, 46. Rich the treasure . . . pleasure. Supply the 
ellipsis. Remark on the position of the adjectives " Rich," •' Sweet." (See 
Def. 45.) 

49. Fought all his battles. Name some of the victories that resulted in the 
conquest of Persia. (See Grecian History). Fought. . . o'er again. Explain 
this sentence. 

50. thrice he slew the slain. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 
.54.) 

54. Changed his ... pride. To whom does the former "his" refer.' The 
latter ? What fault would this be in prose .? Is it avoidable here ? 

55. muse. What is the figure of speech .? (See Def. 28.) 

59, 60. Fallen ... Fallen, etc. What is the figure ? (See Def 35.) 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 



107 



On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes. 
With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, 
Revolving in his altered soul 

The various turns of chance* below; 
And, now and then, a sigh he stole, 
And tears bes:an to flow. 



The mighty master smiled to see 

That love was in the next degree : 

'Twas but a kindred sound to move. 

For pity melts the mind to love. 

Softly sweet, in Lyclian measures. 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble, 
Honor but an empty bubble, 

Never ending, still beginning. 
Fighting still, and still destroying. 



75 



64. exposed, cast out. 

65. a = 07ie, its primary meaning. 

67. Revolving-, turning over, reflecting 

repeatedly upon. — altered soul, 
changed mood. 

68. chance, fate, fortune. 

69. a sigh he stole: that is, he sighed 

inaudibly. 



72. ivas in the next degree: that is, came 

next in order after pity. 

73. 'Ttvas but, etc. : that is, all he had 

to do was only to move a kin- 
dred sound. — move, to set in 
motion. 
75. Lydian measures. See U Allegro, 
page 55, line 128, and note. 



Literary Analysis. — 66. sate: modernize. 

66-70. With downcast looks . . . flow. Change into an equivalent sentence, 
using different words and the prose order. 

73. hut. What part of speech here? 

78. bubble. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) Dryden may 
have had in mind Shakespeare's well-known lines : 

"Then a soldier 
Seeking the hibble reputation [= honor] 
Even in the cannoxi's mouth." 



79, 

etc.? 



What is it that is " Never ending," etc. ? What " Fighting still," 



io8 



DRYDEN". 



If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, O think it worth enjoying : 
Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 
Take the good the gods provide thee. 
The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
So love was crowned, but music won the cause. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on the fair 
Who caused his care. 
And sighed and looked, sighed and looked, 
Sighed and looked, and sighed again. 
At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast. 



8s 



Now strike the golden lyre again ; 

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. 

Break his bands of sleep asunder, 

And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 

Hark, hark, the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head ; 
As awaked from the dead. 

And amazed he stares around. 
Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries. 

See the Furies arise ; 

See the snakes that they rear, 

How they hiss in their hair. 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 



9S 



103, 104. Furies . . . snakes. The Fu- 
ries, in Greek mythology, were 
divinities whose duty it was to 
avenge great enemies. They 



were represented as females, 
with bodies all black, serpents 
twined in their hair, and blood 
dripping from their eyes. 



Literary Analysis. — 81, 82. worth. What part of speech is this? (See 
Swinton's New English Grammar, page 134.) "Winning" and "enjoying" 
are infinitives in -hig or verbal nouns {ibid, page 52), and are in the objective 
adverbial {ibid, page 105). 

97. rouse him. Observe in this line that the sound is the echo of the sense. 

102. Revenge. Supply the ellipsis. 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 



109 



Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain : 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 
The princes applaud with a furious joy ; 
And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy. 
Thais led the way. 
To light him to his prey. 
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. 

7- 
Thus long ago, 
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre. 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 



'113. crew. See U Allegro, page 51. 

116. their hostile gods = the gods of 
their enemies — namely, the Per- 
sians. 

118. flambeau, a torch. 

121. Helen, the wife of Menelaus, King 
of Sparta, was the most beauti- 
ful woman in the world, and, 
according to Grecian mytholo- 
gy, was reputed of divine origin. 
She was abducted by Paris, 
Prince of Troy. Hence the 



Trojan war, which lasted ten 
years, ending with the taking 
and burning of the city by the 
Greeks. Now, as Helen was 
the occasion of the Trojan war, 
she is represented as the cause 
of the burning of Troy, and 
hence the parallel drawn by 
Dryden between her and Thais 
(see note 9). 

123. bellows: that is, of the organ. 

125. to, with. 



Literary Analysis. — 108. torch. What is the syntax of this word. 
109. Those are . . . slain. State the real meaning of this sentence. 



DRYDEN. 

At last divine Cecilia came, 

Inventress * of the vocal frame ; 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 

Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 

And added length to solemn sounds, 
With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 

Let old Timotheus yield the prize. 
Or both divide the crown : 

He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
She drew an angrel clown. 



129. Inventress of the vocal frame: that 
is, the organ. The legend of 
St. Cecilia is obscure. She is 
reputed to have lived in the 
third century A.D., and is cred- 
ited with the invention of the 
organ. 

136. He raised a mortal, etc. : that is, 

immortalized Alexander. 

137. drew an angel down. In the story 



of St. Cecilia, told in the " Gold- 
en Legends " {Legeiida Aurea, 
thirteenth century), she is said 
to have been under the imme- 
diate and present protection of 
an angel ; and this was prob- 
ably the beginning of the tra- 
dition here referred to, and 
which was exquisitely painted 
by Raphael. 



Literary Analysis. — 129. What is the etymology of " Inventress .f"' 
134-137. Give a paraphrase of the last four lines. 



TWO PORTRAITS IN AQUA-FORTIS. 



IL_TWO PORTRAITS IN AQUA-FORTIS. 

[Introduction. — These two extracts are from Dryden's political satii-e 
called Absalom and Achitophel, which contains over one thousand lines, and 
was first published in 1681. By Achitophel is meant the Earl of Shaftesbury, 
the great leader of the Protestant opposition during the latter years of the 
reicrn of Charles II. Dryden had before then become a convert to Catholici- 
ty, and his object was to throw odium on Shaftesbury and his party. The 
brilliant, profligate Duke of Buckingham (Zimri) was a statesman and a wri- 
ter, and at this time was, with Shaftesbury, a leader of the opposition. Many 
other personages are represented in the poem of Absalom and Achitophel; 
but these two are the most famous portraits.]^ 

I.— ACHITOPHEL (THE J:ARL OF SHAFTESBURY). 

Of these the false Achitophel was first, 

A name to all succeeding ages curst : 

For close designs and crooked councils fit, 

Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit ; 

Restless, unfixed in principles and place ; 

In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace — 

A fiery soul which, working out its way. 

Fretted the pygmy* body to decay. 

And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. 

A daring pilot in extremity, 

Pleased with the clanger, when the waves went high 

He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit. 

Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.* 



Notes. — Line 3. close designs, secret 
plots. 

4. turbulent of wit = a turbulent sph-it. 

6. In power. Shaftesbury had been 
Lord-chancellor. — disgrace : he 
was at this time in the Tower 
awaiting trial on a charge of 
high-treason, of which crime he 
was, however, triumphantly ac- 



quitted a short time after the 
first publication of Dryden's 
poem. 

8. pygmy body. Shaftesbury was very 

small in stature. 

9. o'er-informed, over-filled, over-ani- 

mated. 
13. to show his wit, in order to show 
his skill. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-9. Express briefly in your own language the quali- 
ties ascribed to Achitophel in the first nine lines. 

10. A daring pilot. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 20.) Show 
how the metaphor is carried out in the subsequent lines. 

13. to show (= in order to show), adverbial element : what does it modify? 



DRYDEN. 

Great wits * are sure to madness near allied, 

And thin partitions do their bounds divide ; 

Else why should he, with wealth and honors blest, 

Refuse his age the needful hours of rest ? 

Punish a body which he could not please, 

Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease ? 

And all to leave what with his toil he won 

To that unfeathered, two-legged thing, a son.--- 

In friendship false, implacable in hate, 

Resolved to ruin or to rule the state. 

To compass this th^ triple bond he broke. 

The pillars of the public safety shook. 

And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke : 

Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting fame, 

Usurped a patriot's all-atoning * name ; 

So easy still it proves, in factious times, 

With public zeal to cancel private crimes. 

How safe is treason, and how sacred ill, 

Where none can sin against the people's will ; 

Where crowds can wink, and no offence be known. 

Since in another's guilt they find their own ! 



14. Great wits, great intellect. 

17. his age: that is, his old age. 

19. Bankrupt of life, etc. : that is, "why 
should he, with a ruined consti- 
tution, prodigally sacrifice his 
ease." 

21. unfeatliered, tTTO-legffed thing. Plato 
humorously defined man as " a 
biped without feathers." Dry- 
den appropriates it for the pur- 
pose of ribaldry, and makes a 



pointless line, the only one in 
the piece. 

24. the triple bond. The alliance of 
England, Holland, and Sweden 
against France (1667). Shaftes- 
bury was in no way responsible 
for its " breaking," and the line 
is a slander. 

26. foreign yoke. The alliance in 1670 
Tvith France. 

28. all-atoning, all-reconciling. 



Literary Analysis. — 17. age . . .hours. Syntax of these words ? 
23. ResolTed. Supply the ellipsis. "To ruin or to rule," would this in 
prose be the best order of the antithesis .'' 

25, 26. What two examples of metaphor in these lines ? 
31-34. What kind of sentence is the last? 



TWO PORTRAITS IN AQUA-FORTIS. 



"3 



II.— ZIMRI (THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM). 

Some of their chiefs were princes of the land ; 
In the first rank of these did Zimri stand, 
A man so various that he seemed to be 
Not one, but all mankind's epitome :* 
Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong. 
Was everything by starts, and nothing long ; 
But in the course of one revolving moon 
Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon.* 
Blest madman, who could every hour employ 
With something new to wish or to enjoy ! 
Railing and praising were his usual themes. 
And both, to show his judgment, in extremes : 
So over-violent or over-civil 
That every man with him was god or devil. 
In squandering wealth was his peculiar art ; 
Nothing went unrewarded but desert. 
Beggared by fools whom still he found too late. 



3. various: that is, of such diverse 

tastes and talents. 

4. one = one person ; epitome, an 

abridgment, a compendium. 
8. buffoon. This trait is amphfied by 
Pope in a brilliant characteri- 



zation of this same Bucking- 
ham : 

" Or just as gay at council in a ring 
Of mimiched statesmen and their merry Jcing.^^ 

1 7. still he found too late : that is, ever 
he found out too late. 



Literary Analysis. — 6. Was cTerytliing, etc. How is this general or ab- 
stract statement carried out and emphasized by specification in subsequent 
lines ? 

8. Was chemist, etc. What pairs of nouns contrast with each other.? What 
is the effect ? 

12. Supply the ellipsis in this line. 

13. over-violent . . . over-civil. How is each conception carried out in the 
next line ? 

15. Transpose this line into the prose order. 

16. Observe the terrible sting in this line. 



114 



dryden: 

He had his jest, and they had his estate. 

He laughed himself from court ; then sought relief 

By forming parties, but could ne'er be chief : 

For, spite of him, the weight of business fell 

On Absalom and wise Achitophel ; 

Thus wicked but in will, of means bereft, 

He left not faction, but of that was left. 



22. Absalom, the Duke of Monmouth, son of Charles II. 



Literary Analysis. — r8. He had Ms jest, etc. What is the figure.? (See 
Def. 18.) 

Dryden, in his Essay on Satire, says : " How easy it is to call rogue and vil- 
lain, and that wittily ! but how hard to make a man appear a fool, a blockhead, 
or a knave without using any of these opprobrious names ! There is a vast 
difference between the slovenly butchering of a man and the fineness of stroke 
that separates the head from the body, and leaves it standing in its place. . . . 
The character of Zimri, in my Absalom and Achitophel, is, in my opinion, worth 
the whole poem. It is not bloody, but it is ridiculous enough." 

Show, in any point, the application of this remark to the characterization of 
Buckingham. 



VII. 



JONATHAN SWIFT. 

1667-1745. 




c^, J-miU: 5^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY LORD JEFFREY.' 

I. The distinguishing feature of Swift's writings is the force 
and the vehemence of the invective in which they abound — the 
copiousness, the steadiness, the perseverance, and the dexterity 

' Critical and Miseellaueous Essays by Lord Jeffrey. 



ii6 smFT. 

with which abuse and ridicule are showered upon die adversary. 
This, we think, was, beyond all doubt. Swift's great talent, and 
the weapon by which he made himself formidable. -He was, 
without exception, the greatest and most efficient libeller that 
ever exercised the trade ; and possessed in an eminent degree 
all the qualifications which it requires — a clear head, a cold 
heart, a vindictive temper, no admiration of noble qualities, no 
sympathy with suffering, not much conscience, not much consis- 
tency, a ready wit, a sarcastic humor, a thorough knowledge of 
the baser parts of human nature, and a complete familiarity with 
everything that is low, homely, and familiar in language. 

2. These were his gifts, and he soon felt for what ends they 
were given. Almost all his works are libels — generally upon in- 
dividuals, sometimes upon sects and parties, sometimes upon 
human nature. Whatever be his end, however, personal abuse — 
direct, vehement, unsparing invective — is his means. It is his 
sword and his shield, his panoply and his chariot of war. In 
all his writings, accordingly, there is nothing to raise or exalt 
our notions of human nature, but everything to vilify and de- 
grade. 

3. Though a great polemic, he makes no use of general princi- 
ples, nor ever enlarges his views to a wide or comprehensive 
conclusion. Everything is particular with him, and, for the 
most part, strictly personal. To make amends, however, we do 
think him quite without a competitor in personalities. With a 
quick and sagacious spirit, and a bold and popular manner, he 
joins an exact knowledge of all the strong and the weak parts 
of every cause he has to manage ; and, without the least re- 
straint from delicacy, either of taste or of feeling, he seems al- 
ways to think the most effectual blows the most advisable, and 
no advantage unlawful that is likely to be successful for the mo- 
ment. Disregarding all laws of polished hostility, he uses at one 
and the same moment his sword and his poisoned dagger, his 
hands and his teeth, and his envenomed breath — and does not 
even scruple, upon occasion, to imitate his own Yahoos, by dis- 
charging on his unhappy victims a shower of filth from which 
neither courage nor dexterity can afford any protection. 

4. The Voyages of Captain Lemuel Gulliver is indisputably 
his greatest work. The idea of making fictitious travels the 



JEFFREY'S CHARACTERIZATION OF SWIFT. jij 

vehicle of satire as well as of amusement is at least as old as 
Lucian, but has never been carried into execution with such 
success, spirit, and originality as in this celebrated performance. 
The brevity, the minuteness, the homeliness, the unbroken seri- 
ousness of the narrative, all give a character of truth and sim- 
plicity to the work, which at once palliates the extravagance of 
the picture, and enhances the effect of those weighty reflections 
and cutting severities in which it abounds. Yet, though it is 
probable enough that w;ithout those touches of satire and obser- 
vation the work would have appeared childish and preposterous, 
we are persuaded that it pleases chiefly by the novelty. and vivac- 
ity of the extraordinary pictures it presents, and the entertain- 
ment we receive from following the fortunes of the traveller in 
his several extraordinary adventures. The greater part of the 
wisdom and satire, at least, appears to us to be extremely vulgar 
and commonplace ; and we have no idea that they could possi- 
bly appear either impressive or entertaining if presented without 
these accompaniments. 

5. Of Swift's style, it has been visual to speak with great, and, 
we think, exaggerated, praise. It is less mellow than Dryden's, 
less elegant than Pope's or Addison's, less free and noble than 
Lord Bolingbroke's, and utterly without the glow and loftiness 
which belonged to our earlier masters. It is radically a low and 
homely style — without grace, and without affectation, and chiefly 
remarkable for a great choice and profusion of common words 
and expressions. Other writers who have used a plain and di- 
rect style have been for the most part jejune and limited in their 
diction, and generally give us an impression of the poverty as 
well as the tameness of their language ; but Swift, without ever 
trespassing into figured or poetical expressions, or even employ- 
ing a word that can be called fine or pedantic, has a prodigious 
variety of good set phrases always at his command, and displays 
a sort of homely richness, like the plenty of an old English din- 
ner, or the wardrobe of a wealthy burgess. 

6. In humor and in irony, and in the talent of debasing and 
defiling what he hated, we join with all the world in thinking the 
Dean of St. Patrick's without a rival. His humor, though suf- 
ficiently marked and peculiar, is not to be easily defined. The 
nearest description we can give of it would make it consist in 



Ii8 SWIFT. 

expressing sentiments the most absurd and ridiculous, the most 
shocking and atrocious, or sometimes the most energetic and 
original, in a sort of composed, calm, and unconscious way, as if 
they were plain, undeniable, commonplace truths, which no per- 
son could dispute, or expect to gain credit by announcing, and in 
maintaining them always in the gravest and most familiar lan- 
guage, with a consistency which somewhat palliates their extrav- 
agance, and a kind of perverted ingenuity which seems to give 
pledge for their sincerity. The secret, in short, seems to consist 
in employing the language of humble good sense, and simple, un- 
doubting conviction, to express in their honest nakedness senti- 
ments which it is usually thought necessary to disguise under a 
thousand pretences, or truths which are usually introduced with 
a thousand apologies. 



POPE'S LINES ON SWIFT. 

O thou ! whatever title please thine ear. 
Dean,' Drapier," Bickerstaff,'' or Gulliver!* 
Whether thou choose Cervantes'^ serious air, 
Or laugh and shake in Rabelais'" easy-chair, 
Or praise the court, or magnify mankind. 
Or thy grieved country's copper chains unbind ; 
From thy Boeotia, though her power retires. 
Mourn not, my Swift, at aught our realm acquires. 
Here pleased behold her mighty wings outspread 
To hatch a new Saturnian age of lead. 

' Dean, because dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin. 

* Drapier, because he signed the name M. B. Drapier to a series of wonder- 
fully vigorous letters on a local political subject. 

^ Bickerstaff, because under the name of Isaac Bickerstaff he wrote an amus- 
ing mystification in regard to astrology. 

* Gulliver, because author of Gulliver's Travels. 
' Cervantes, the author oi Don Quixote. 

" Rabelais, the greatest of French humorists. 



THE ACADEMY OF LAG A DO. 



119 



THE ACADEMY OF LAGADO. 

[Introduction. — The following extract is fiom Part III. of Gulliver's 
Travels, the "Voyage to Laputa." The feigned Laputa, or flying island, 
seems to be located, by Swift, off the coast of China, and Lagado, the seat of 
the Academy described, was the chief city of the kingdom. The aim of Swift 
in this piece is to satirize the knavish " projectors " (inventors) and the quack 
philosophers, both so numerous in his day. Giilliver''s Travels was first pub- 
lished in 1726.] 

I. I was received very kindly by the warden, and went for 
many days to the academy. Every room has in it one or more 
projectors, and I believe I could not be in fewer than five hun- 
dred rooms. The first man I saw was of a meagre * aspect, with 
sooty hands and face, his hair and beard long, ragged, and singed 
in several places. His clothes, shirt, and skin were all of the 
same color. He had been eight years upon a project for ex- 
tracting sunbeams out of cucumbers,* which were to be put in 
vials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw, in- 
clement summers. He told me he did not doubt in eight years . 
more that he should be able to supply the governor's gardens 



Notes. — Line l. the warden : properly 
the keeper of a mad-house, but 
applied satirically by Swift to 
the superintendent of the La- 
gado Academy, the pursuits of 



whose students sufficiently pro- 
claim them to be lunatics. 

3- projectors, inventors. 

4. meagre, thin. 

7. eight years upon. Supply engaged. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-17- Of the seven sentences in the first paragraph, 
one is simple, three are complex, and three are compound : select those of 
each type. — Is the order of words in the sentences direct or rhetorical .'' (See 
Defs. 44, 45.) 

8. sunbeams out of cucumbers. What class of persons does Swift intend to 
satirize in the description of the genius who was engaged on the project for 
"extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers ?" — Considering that the success of 
the satire turns on the extreme absurdity of the schemes on which the pro- 
jectors were engaged, what do you think as to the aptness of this example ? 
Point out, in this paragraph, some touches characteristic of the whole class of 
chimerical inventors. 

10, II. in eight years more. Place this adverbial phrase in a position that 
shall be better by being nearer the word it modifies. 



I20 SWIFT. 

with sunshine at a reasonable rate ; but he complained that his 
stock was low, and entreated me to give him something as an en- 
couragement to ingenuity, especially since this had been a very 
dear season for cucumbers. I made him a small present, for my 15 
lord had furnished me with money on purpose, because he knew 
their practice of begging from all who go to see them. 

2. I saw another at work to calcine ice into gunpowder, who 
likewise showed me a treatise he had written concerning the 
malleability of fire, which he intended to publish. 20 

3. There was a most ingenious architect, who had contrived a 
new method of building houses, by beginning at the roof and 
working downward to the foundation ; which he justified to me 
by the like practice of those two prudent insects, the bee and the 
spider, 25 

4. In another department, I was highly pleased with a projec- 
tor who had found a device of ploughing the ground with hogs, 
to save the charges of ploughs, cattle, and labor. The method 
is this : In an acre of ground you bury, at six inches distance, 
and eight deep, a quantity of acorns, dates, chestnuts, and other 30 
mast* or vegetables, whereof these animals are fondest. Then 
you drive six hundred or more of them into the field, where in a 



12, 13. his stock: that is, his stock of 

sunbeams. 
15, 16. my lord: that is, the King of 

Laputa. 
18. calcine, to reduce to a powder by 

the action of heat. 



20. malleability, the quality of being 
malleable, or extended by ham- 
mering. 

28. charges, cost. 

31. mast, the fruit of the oak, beech, or 
other forest trees. 



Literary Analysis.— 18. calcine. Define this word, and state from what 
the aptness of its employment here arises. Would a generic term, such as 
"change" or "convert," be as felicitous .?— who. Notice the distance of the 
relative pronoun from its antecedent, and improve the sentence by breaking it 
up into two. 

21. ingenious. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 26.) — By what two 
examples did this projector justify his new method of building t Note the ele- 
ment of the absurd in this. 

26-37. In another department . . . improvement. In the device of ploughing 
by hogs, point how by the mention of minute details and exact figures, the au- 
thor gives verisimilitude to the mad project.— With what ironical touch does 
the paragraph close .'' 



THE ACADEMY OF LAG ADO. I2i 

few days they will root up the whole ground in search of their 
food, and make it fit for sowing. It is true, upon experiment, 
they found the charge and trouble very great, and they had little 35 
or no crop. However, it is not doubted that this invention may 
be capable of great improvement. 

5. There was an astronomer who had undertaken to place a 
sundial upon the great weathercock in the town-house by ad- 
justing the annual and diurnal motions of the earth and sun so 4° 
as to answer and coincide with all accidental- turnings of the 
wind. I visited many other apartments, but shall not trouble 
my readers with all the curiosities I observed, being studious of 
brevity. 

6. We crossed a walk to the other part of the academy, where, 45 
as I have already said, the projectors in speculative learning re- 
sided. The first professor I saw was in a very large room, with 
forty pupils about him. After salutation, observing me to look 
earnestly upon a frame which took up the greatest part of both 
the length and breadth of the room, he said perhaps I might 5° 
wander to see him employed in a project for improving specula- 
tive knowledge by practical mechanical operations j but the 
world would soon be sensible of its usefulness, and he flattered 
himself that a more noble, exalted thought never sprang in any 
other man's head. Every one knows how laborious the usual 55 
method is of attaining to arts and sciences ; whereas, by his con- 
trivance, the most ignorant person, at a reasonable charge, and 



46. speculative learning. The term is j 47. large room. " Large," perhaps, in 
used in contrast with the /ra<;^/- allusion to the vastness of the 

cd;/ pursuits of the projectors. 1 domain of speculation. 



Literary Analysis. — 40. annual . . . sun. We are not to look for astro- 
nomical accuracy in this satirical description : otherwise what should we say 
in regard to Swift's speaking of the " annual and diurnal motions of the earth 
and sun ?" 

45-81. Give synonyms of the following words in paragraph 6: "resided" 
(46,47); "salutation" (48); "wonder" (51); "employed" (51); "exalted" 
(54); "contrivance" (56,57); "assistance" (59,60); "slender" (65); "com- 
mand " (70) ; " shifted " (80). 

48. observing me to look. Modernize this expression. 



122 SWIFT. 

with a little bodily labor, may write books in philosophy, poetry, 
politics, laws, mathematics, and theology, without the least assist- 
ance from genius or study. He then led me to the frame, 60 
about the sides whereof all his pupils stood in ranks. It was 
twenty feet square, placed in the middle of the room. The 
superficies was composed of several bits of wood, about the 
bigness of a die, but some larger than others. They were all 
linked together by slender wires. These bits of wood were 65 
covered, on every squai-e, with papers pasted on them ; and on 
these papers were written all the words of their language, in 
their several moods, tenses, and declensions, but without any 
order. The professor then desired me to observe, for he was 
going to set his engine at work. The pupils, at his command, 70 
took each of them hold of an iron handle, whereof there were 
forty fixed around the edges of the frame ; and giving them a 
sudden turn, the whole disposition of the words was entirely 
changed. He then commanded six-and-thirty of the lads to 
read the several lines softly, as they appeared upon the frame ; 75 
and where they fovmd three or four words together that might 
make part of a sentence, they dictated to the four remaining 
boys, who were scribes. This work was repeated three or four 
times, and at every turn the engine was so contrived that the 
words shifted into new places as the square bits of wood moved 80 
upside down. 

7. Six hours a day the young students were employed in this la- 
bor; and the professor showed me several volumes in large folio,* 
already collected, of broken sentences, which he intended to piece 
together, and out of those rich materials to give the world a 85 
complete body of all arts and sciences ; which, however, might 



63. superficies, surface. 1 83. folio, a book in sheets once folded, 

64. die, singular of dice. a book of the largest size 
73. disposition, arrangement. | made. 



Literary Analysis. — 62-64. Tlie superficies . . . otliers. Analyze this 
sentence. 

78-81. Tliis worli . . . doTVTi. Rewrite this sentence, substituting synonymous 
words wherever possible. 

82. Lours. What is the grammatical construction of " hours V 

82-90. Give an example of an epithet used ironically in this sentence. 



THE ACADEMY OF LAG A DO. 123 

be Still improved, and much expedited, if the public would raise 
a fund for making and employing five hundred such frames in 
Lagado, and oblige the managers to contribute in common their 
several collections. He assured me that this invention had em- 90 
ployed all his thoughts from his youth ; that he had emptied the 
whole vocabulary into his frame, and made the strictest compu- 
tation of the general proportion there is in books between the 
number of particles, nouns, and verbs, and other parts of speech. 

S. I made my humblest acknowledgment to this illustrious 95 
person for his great communicativeness, and promised, if ever I 
had the good fortune to return to my native country, that I would 
do him justice as the sole inventor of this wonderful machine. 
I told him, although it were the custom of our learned in Europe 
to steal inventions from each other, who had thereby at least 100 
this advantage, that it became a controversy which was the right 
owner, yet I would take such caution that he should have the 
honor entire, without a rival. 

9. In the school of political projectors, I was but ill entertain- 
ed ; the professors appearing, in my judgment, wholly out of their 105 
senses, which is a scene that never fails to make me melancholy. 
These unhappy people were proposing schemes for persuading 
monarchs to choose favorites upon the score of their wisdom, 
capacity, and virtue ; of teaching ministers to consult the public 
good ; of rewarding merit, great abilities, and eminent services ;iio 
of instructing princes to know their true interest, by placing it 
on the same foundation with that of their people ; of choosing 
for employments persons qualified to exercise them ; with many 
other wild, impossible chimeras that never entered before into 
the heart of man to conceive, and confirmed in me the old ob- us 
servation, " that there is nothing so extravagant and irrational 
which some philosophers have not maintained for truth." 



Literary Analysis. — 99. were. In what mood is this verb? 

104-I17. Ill the school. . .truth. State in your own language the anus of 
the political projectors. These are characterized as " chimeras :" explain 
this term. What would be the condition of a country in which these aims 
were realized ? 



VIII. 



JOSEPH ADDISON. 

1672-1719. 




J-., jfc/^^^'^it. 



CHARACTERIZATION BY MACAULAY. 

I. To Addison we are bound by a sentiment as much like af- 
fection as any sentiment can be which is inspired by one who 
has been sleeping a hundred and fifty years in Westminster Ab- 



MACA [/LAY'S CHARACTERIZATION OF ADDISON. 125 

bey. ^ We trust, however, that this feeling will not betray us into 
that abject idolatry which we have often had occasion to repre- 
hend in others, and which seldom fails to make both the idola- 
ter and the idol ridiculous. A man of genius and virtue is but a 
man. All his powers cannot be equally developed ; nor can we 
expect from him perfect self-knowledge. We need not, there- 
fore, hesitate to admit that Addison has left us some composi- 
tions which do not rise above mediocrity — some heroic poems 
hardly equal to Parneirs, some criticism as superficial as Dr. 
Blair's, and a tragedy not very much better than Dr. Johnson's. 
It is praise enough to say of a writer that in a high department 
of literature, in which many eminent writers have distinguished 
themselves, he has had no equal ; and this may with strict justice 
be said of Addison. 

2. It is probable that Addison, when he sent across St. George's 
Channel his first contribution to the Tatler,'^ had no notion of 
the extent and variety of his own powers. He was the possessor 
of a vast mine, rich with a hundred ores. But he had been ac- 
quainted only with the least precious part of his treasures, and 
had hitherto contented himself with producing sometimes cop- 
per, and sometimes lead, intermingled with a little silver. All at 
once, and by mere accident, he had lighted on an inexhaustible 
vein of pure gold. The mere choice and arrangement of his 
words would have sufficed to make his essays classical. For 
never, not even by Dryden, not even by Temple, had the English 
language been written with such sweetness, grace, and facility. 

3. As a moral satirist, Addison stands unrivalled. In wit, 
properly so called, he was not inferior to Cowley or Butler. The 
still higher faculty of invention he possessed in still larger meas- 
ure. The numerous fictions, generally original, often wild and 
grotesque, but always singularly graceful and happy, which are 

^ This was written by Macaulay in 1843. He himself, sixteen years after- 
wards (1859), was laid to sleep, near Addison, in the same famous mausoleum 
of England's illustrious dead. 

"^ The Tatler — the forerunner of the Spectator — was a periodical paper started 
in 1709 by Richard Steele, who had been Addison's schoolfellow. When its 
publication began, Addison was in Ireland (hence the reference above to " St. 
George's Channel "), in official employment, and he determined to give the 
new literary venture his assistance. 



126 ADDISON. 

found in his essays fully entitle him to the rank of a great poet 
— a rank to which his metrical compositions give him no claim. 
As an observer of life, of manners, of all shades of human char- 
acter, he stands in the first class. And what he observed he had 
the art of communicating in two widely different ways. He could 
describe virtues, vices, habits, whims, as well as Clarendon. But 
he could do something better. He could call human beings into 
existence, and make them exhibit themselves. If we wish to find 
anything more vivid than Addison's best portraits, we must go 
either to Shakespeare or to Cervantes. 

4. But what shall we say of Addison's humor — of his sense of 
the ludicrous ; of his power of awakening that sense in others, 
and of drawing mirth from incidents which occur every day, and 
from little peculiarities of temper and manner such as' may be 
found in every man ? We feel the charm. We give ourselves 
up to it. But we strive in vain to analyze it. 

5. Perhaps the best way of describing Addison's peculiar pleas- 
antry is to compare it with the pleasantry of some other great 
satirists. The three most eminent masters of the art of ridicule 
during the eighteenth century were, we conceive, Addison, Swift, 
and Voltaire. Which of the three had the greatest power of mov- 
ing laughter may be questioned. But each of them, within his 
own domain, was supreme. Voltaire is the prince of buffoons. 
His merriment is without disguise or restraint. He gambols ; 
he grins; he shakes his sides ; he points the finger; he turns up 
the nose ; he shoots out the tongue. The manner of Swift is the 
very opposite to this. He moves laughter, but never joins in it. 
He appears in his works such as he appeared in society. All 
the company are convulsed with merriment ; while the dean, the 
author of all the mirth, preserves an invincible gravity, and even 
sourness of aspect, and gives utterance to the most eccentric and 
ludicrous fancies with the air of a man reading the commina- 
tion service. 

6. The manner of Addison is as remote from that of Swift as 
from that of Voltaire. He neither laughs out like the French 
wit, nor, like the Irish wit, throws a double portion of severity 
into his countenance while laughing inly ; but preserves a look 
peculiarly his own— a look of demure severity, disturbed only by 
an arch sparkle of the eye, an alfnost imperceptible elevation of 



MACAULAY'S CHARACTERIZATION OF ADDISON: 127 

the brow, an almost imperceptible curl of the lip. We own that 
the humor of Addison is, in our opinion, of a more delicious 
flavor than the humor of either Swift or Voltaire. Thus much, 
at least, is certain, that both Swift and Voltaire have been suc- 
cessfully mimicked, and that no man has yet been able to mimic 
Addison. 

7. But that which chiefly distinguishes Addison from Swift, 
from Voltaire, from almost all the other great masters of ridicule, 
is the grace, the nobleness, the moral purity, which we find even 
in his merriment. Severity, gradually hardening and darkening 
into misanthropy, characterizes the works of Swift. The nature 
of Voltaire was, indeed, not inhuman ; but he venerated nothing. 
Neither in the masterpieces of art, nor in the purest examples of 
virtue ; neither in the Great First Cause, nor in the awful enigma 
of the grave, could he see anything but subjects for drollery. 
The more solemn and august the theme, the more monkey-like 
was his grimacing and chattering. The mirth of Swift is the 
mirth of Mephistopheles ; the mirth of Voltaire is the mirth of 
Puck. If, as Soame Jenyns oddly imagined, a portion of the 
happiness of seraphim and just men made perfect be derived 
from an exquisite perception of the ludicrous, their mirth must 
surely be none other than the mirth of Addison — a mirth con- 
sistent with tender compassion for all that is frail, and with pro- 
found reverence for all that is sublime. 

8. It is strange that neither his opulent and noble widow ' nor 
any of his powerful and attached friends should have thought of 
placing even a simple tablet, inscribed with his name, on the 
walls of the Abbey. " It was not till three generations had laugh- 
ed and wept over his pages that the omission was supplied by 
the public veneration. At length, in our own time, his image, 
skilfully graven, appeared in Poets' Corner. It represents him, 
as we can conceive him, clad in his dressing-gown, and freed 
from his wig, stepping from his parlor at Chelsea into his trim 
little garden, with the account of the Everlasting Club, or the 
Loves of Hilpa and Shalum, just finished for the next day's Spec- 

' In 1 7 16, three years before his death, Addison married the Countess-dow- 
ager of Warwick, who survived him. She is said to have been somewhat of 
a shrew. 

^ Westminster Abbey. 



128 ADDISON. 

tato7', in his hand. Such a mark of respect was due to the un- 
sullied statesman, to the accomplished scholar, to the master of 
pure English eloquence, to the consummate painter of life and 
manners. It was due, above all, to the great satirist who alone 
knew how to use ridicule without abusing it ; who, without in- 
flicting a wound, effected a great social reform ; and who recon- 
ciled wit and virtue, after a long and disastrous separation, dur- 
ing which wit had been led astray by profligacy, and virtue by 
fanaticism. 



POPE'S VENOMED SHAFT.' 

Peace to all such ! ^ but were there one whose fires 
True genius kindles and fair fame inspires ; 
Blest with each talent and each art to please. 
And born to write, converse, and live with ease : 
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone. 
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne. 
View him with scornful yet with jealous eyes, 
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise ; 
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer. 
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer ; 
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike. 
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike ; 

' This malevolent but most powerful characterization of Addison, under 
the name of Atticus (see last line), appeared in the Prologue to Pope's Satires. 
Addison and Pope had been friends, but the bitter and suspicious temper of 
the latter led to a rupture, and he wrote what Macaulay styles " the brilliant 
and energetic lines which everybody knows by heart, or ought to know by 
heart." Macaulay adds : " One charge which Pope has enforced with great 
skill is probably not without foundation. Addison was, we are inclined to be- 
lieve, too fond of presiding over a circle of humble friends. Of the other im- 
putations scarcely one has been proved to be just, and some are certainly 
false. That Addison was not in the habit of 'damning with faint praise' 
appears from innumerable passages in his writings, and from none more than 
those in which he mentions Pope. And it is not merely unjust, but ridiculous, 
to describe a man who made the fortune of almost every one of his intimate 
friends as 'so obliging that he ne'er obliged.'" 

^ By " all such " is meant the poetasters whom Pope has been unmercifully 
lashing in the previous part of the poem. 



COVER LEY HALL. 

Alike reserved to blame or to commend, 
A timorous foe and a suspicious friend ; 
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged, 
And so obliging that he ne'er obliged ; ^ 
Like Cato, give his little senate laws, 
And sit attentive to his own applause ; 
While wits and templars every sentence raise. 
And wonder with a foolish face of praise — 
Who but must laugh if such a man there be ? 
Who would not weep if Atticus were he ? 



129 



SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY. 



[Introduction. — The Spectator, from which these papers of Addison are 
taken, was a-^^ly periodical started by Sir Richard Steele in 1711, as a suc- 
cessor to the Tailei: Sir Roger de Coverley, a fictitious character, was repre- 
sented as one of a select club to which Mr. Spectator (drawn for Addison 
himself) belonged. The members of this club were sketched in a paper 
{Spectator No. 2) written by Steele, and here we have the first outlines of the 
portrait of Sir Roger. " Addison took the rude outlines into his own hands, 
retouched them, colored them, and is, in truth, the creator of the Sir Roger 
de Coverley and the Will Honeycomb with whom we are all familiar." — Ma- 
CAULAY : Essay on Addis on i\ 

L— COVERLEY HALL (Spectator No. 106). 

I. Having often received an invitation from my friend Sir 
Roger de Coverley to pass away a month with him in the coun- 
try, I last week accompanied him thither, and am settled with 
him for some time at his country-house, where I intend to form 
several of my ensuing speculations. Sir Roger, who is verv well 



Literary Analysis. — 1-5. Having , . . speculations. What kind of sen- 
tence grammatically considered .'' 

' " Obliged :" pronounced in Pope's time and long afterwards, obleeged, in 
the French fashion. 

^ "Raise" = applaud. The sting in this allusion is that when Addison's 
tragedy of Cato was first brought out, Addison's managers are said to have 
filled the pit with friendly literary men ("wits") and lawyers ("templars" — 
from the "Temple," or Inns of Court), who, it was zinderstood, v/ou\d carry 
the piece through with applause. 

9 



I30 



ADDISON. 



acquainted with my humor,* lets me rise and go to bed when I 
please ; dine at his own table or in my chamber, as I think fit ; 
sit still and say nothing without bidding me be merry. When 
the gentlemen of the country come to see him, he only shows me 
at a distance. As I have been walking in his fields I have ob- lo 
served them stealing a sight of me over an hedge, and have heard 
the knight desiring them not to let me see them, for that I hated 
to be stared at. 

2. I am the more at ease in Sir Roger's family because it con- 
sists of sober and staid persons ; for as the knight is the best is 
master in the world, he seldom changes his servants ; and as he 
is beloved by all about him, his servants never care for leaving 
him. By this means his domestics are all in years, and grown 
old with their master. You would take his valet de chambTe for 
his brother; his butler* is gray-headed; his groom is one of the 20 
gravest men that I ever have seen; and his coachman has the 
looks of a privy-councillor. You see the goodness of the master 
even in the old house-dog, and in a gray pad* that is kept in the 
stable with great care and tenderness out of regard to his past 
services, though he has been useless for several years. 25 

3. I could not but observe with a great deal of pleasure the 
joy that appeared in the countenances of these ancient domes- 
tics upon my friend's arrival at his country-seat. Some of them 



Notes. — Line 6. humor, disposition, 
temper. 

11. an hedge. The use oi an before a 

sounded h is very common with 
Addison. 

12. the knight: that is, Sir Roger. 

19. valet (le chambre [pronounced val-d 



desliakm-l'j-], an attendant — an- 
glicized and shortened into 
valet. 

22. piivy-conncillor, a member of the 

privy council ; equivalent to our 
cabinet officer. 

23. pad, an easy-paced horse. 



Literary Analysis. — Give the derivation of the word "humor" (6), and 
explain as here used. — Derivation of " butler " (20) t Of " pad " (23) .? 

8-10. Wlien the gentlemen . , . distance. What kind of sentence is this rhe- 
torically ? 

II. stealing a sight. Substitute an equivalent expression. 

15, 16. best master, etc. What figure of speech.' (See Def 34.) 

18. and grown. Supply the ellipsis. 

1-25. State in your own language some of the amiable traits of character 
attributed to Sir Roger in paragraphs i and 2. 

27, 28. ancient domestics. Substitute synonyms. 



COVER LEY HALL. 



131 



coulcl not refrain from tears at the sight of their old master ; 
every one of them pressed forward to do something for him, and 30 
seemed discouraged * if they were not employed. At the same 
time, the good old knight, with a mixture of the father and the 
master of the family, tempered* the inquiries after his own af- 
fairs with several kind questions relating to themselves. This 
humanity and good-nature engages everybody to him, so thatss 
when he is pleasant upon any of them, all his family are in good- 
humor, and none so much as the person whom he diverts himself 
with ; on the contrary, if he coughs, or betrays any infirmity of 
old age, it is easy for a stander-by to observe a secret concern in 
the looks of all his servants. 40 

4. My worthy friend has put me under the particular care of 
his butler, who is a very prudent man, and, as well as the rest of 
his fellow-servants, wonderfully desirous of pleasing me, because 
they have often heard their master talk of me as of his particular 
friend. 45 

5. My chief companion, when Sir Roger is diverting himself in 
the woods or the fields, is a very venerable man, who is ever with 
Sir Roger, and has lived at his house in the nature of a chap- 
lain* above thirty years. This gentleman is a person of good 
sense and some learning, of a very regular life and obliging con- 5° 
versation ; he heartily loves Sir Roger, and knows that he is 



31. they. Strict grammar requires he. [ 48. in the nature of. We should now 
^3. tempered, gently mingled. I say "in the f/zarac/er of." 

Literary Analysis. — Give an Anglo-Saxon synonym for "discouraged" 
(31). — State the derivation of "tempered" (33). Of "tinged" (57). — What 
curious piece of history in the word " chaplain " (48) ? — What metaphor is in 
the word "insulted" (65) ? 

35. engages. What is the subject .'' Can the singular number be defended 
here ? 

36. pleasant upon. What preposition should we now use ? 
39. stander-by. Give the modern form of the word. 

41-45. My worthy . . . particular friend. What kind of sentence grammatical- 
ly? — Give the principal proposition. Point out its two adjective clauses; its 
adverbial clause. — What kind of sentence is this rhetorically, a period or a 
loose sentence? — Point out an infelicitous repetition of a word. 

48. at his house. What preposition do we now use ? 

49-53. This gentleman . . . dependent. Make an equivalent sentence using 
different words. 



132 



ADDISON. 



very much in the old knight's esteem, so that he lives in the 
family rather as a relation than a dependent. 

6. I have observed in several of my papers that my friend Sir 
Roger, amidst all his good qualities, is something of an humor- 55 
ist ; and that his virtues as well as imperfections are, as it were, 
tinged* by a certain extravagance, which makes them particu- 
larly his, and distinguishes them from those of other men. This 
cast of mind, as it is generally very innocent in itself, so it ren- 
ders his conversation highly agreeable, and more delightful than 60 
the same degree of sense and virtue would appear in their com- 
mon and ordinary colors. As I was walking with him last night, 
he asked me how I liked the good man whom I have just now 
mentioned ; and, without staying for my answer, told me that he 
was afraid of being insulted * with Latin and Greek at his own 65 
table, for which reason he desired a particular friend of his at 
the university to find him out a clergyman rather of plain sense 
than much learning, of a good aspect, a clear voice, a sociable 
temper, and, if possible, a man that understood a little of back- 
gammon. "My friend," says Sir Roger, "found me out this 7° 
gentleman, who, besides the endowments required of him, is, they 
tell me, a good scholar, though he does not show it. I have 
given him the parsonage of the parish ; and because I know his 



65. insulted with Latin and Greek, etc. 
In the time of Sir Roger, the 
" fine old English gentleman " 
made little pretension to learn- 
ing. 

69, 70. backgammon. The word is 
Welsh (liach, little, and camnion, 
a battle), and so, also, is proba- 
bly the game in its origin. It 



is mentioned by Shakespeare 
under the name of " tables." 
73. the parsonage, the benefice or office 
of parson — not the residence — 
is here meant. Various classes 
of " patrons " had the right of 
appointing to church benefices. 
Sir Roger, as knight of the shire, 
had this risfht. 



Literary Analysis.— 55, 56. an humorist. What is the modern form of 
the article 1 — Is " humorist " here used in a different sense from its common 
modern meaning ? 

58-62. This cast . . . colors. Point out an instance of pleonasm in this sen- 
tence. How may the fault be corrected ? 

67-70. a clergyman . . . biickgannnon. What is there humorous in Sir Roger's 
ideal of a clergyman ? 



COVERLEY HALL. 



^ZZ 



value, have settled upon him a good annuity* for life. If he 
outlives me, he shall find that he Avas higher in my esteem than is 
perhaps he thinks he is. He has now been with me thirty years, 
and, though he does not know I have taken notice of it, has 
never in all that time asked anything of me for himself, though 
he is every day soliciting me for something in behalf of one or 
other of my tenants, his parishioners. There has not been a law- So 
suit in the parish since he has lived among them. If any dispute 
arises, they apply themselves to him for the decision ; if they do 
not acquiesce in his judgment, which I think never happened 
above once or twice at most, they appeal to me. At his first set- 
tling with me, I made him a present of all the good sermons 85 
which have been printed in English, and only begged of him that 
every Sunday he would pronounce one of them in the pulpit. 
Accordingly, he has digested* them into such a series that they 
follow one another naturally, and make a continued system of 
practical divinity."* 90 

7. As Sir Roger was going on with his story, the gentleman we 
were talking of came up to us, and upon the knight's asking him 
who preached to-morrow (for it was Saturday night), told us the 
Bishop of St. Asaph in the morning, and Dr. South in the after- 



74. iiiinuity, yearly money allowance. 
88. digested, arranged methodically. 
90. divinity, theology. 
94-97. Bisliop of St. Asapli . . . Calamy. 

The names mentioned are those 
of eminent English divines, 
though, curiously enough, the 
two greatest preachers of the 



17th century — Jeremy Taylor 
and Hooker — are not in the 
list. Dr. Barrow's sermons 
were of enormous length. One, 
preached before the lord mayor 
and aldermen of London, is said 
to have taken up three hours 
and a half in the delivery. 



Lri'ERARY Analysis. — Give the etymology of "annuity" (74). — Is "di- 
gested " (88) used in its modern or in its literal sense .'' What is its usual 
modern meaning ? — What word of Greek origin is synonymous with " divinity " 
(90) ? (See " theology " in Glossary.) 

76-84. He lias now ... to me. What traits did Sir Roger's chaplain possess 
in common with the " village preacher " in Goldsmith's Deserted Village ? 
(See page 219 of this book.) 

92. upon the kniglit's asking liini. Explain the form "asking." (See Swin- 
ton's N'ew English Grammar, § 100, iv.) 

93. itIio preached to-niorrotv. Would this now be considered good English ? 

94. Bishop of St. Asaph . , . Dr. South. Supply the ellipsis. 



134 



ADDISON. 



noon. He then showed us his Hst of preachers for the whole gs 
year, where I saw with a great deal of pleasure Archbishop Til- 
lotson, Bishop Saunderson, Dr. Barrow, Dr. Calamy, with several 
living authors who have published discourses of practical divin- 
ity. I no sooner saw this venerable man in the pulpit but I very 
much approved of my friend's insisting upon the qualifications loo 
of a good aspect and a clear voice ; for I was so charmed with 
the gracefulness of his figure and delivery, as well as with the 
discourses he pronounced, that I think I never passed any time 
more to my satisfaction. A sermon repeated after this manner 
is like the composition of a poet in the mouth of a graceful actor. 105 

8. I could heartily wish that more of our country clergy would 
follow this example, and, instead of wasting their spirits in labo- 
rious compositions of their own, would endeavor after a hand- 
some elocution and all those other talents that are proper to en- 
force what has been formed by greater masters. This would not no 
only be more easy to themselves, but more edifying to the people. 



11.— THE COVERLEY SABBATH (Spectator No. 112). 

I. I am always very well pleased with a country Sunday,* and 
think if keeping holy the seventh day were only a human institu- 
tion, it would be the best method that could have been thought 
of for the polishing and civilizing of mankind. It is certain the 
country people would soon degenerate into a kind of savages* 
and barbarians,* were there not such frequent returns of a stated 
time in which the whole village meet together with their best 



Notes. — 2. only a huiuaii = a merely | 7. village meet. " Village " is a col- 
human. I lective noun implying plurality. 



Literary Analysis.— 96, 97. Archbishop Tillotson . . . Calamy. What figure 
of speech is here used ? (See Def. 29.) 

loi. a good aspect ... a clear Toice. What words in the latter part of the 
sentence correspond with these ? 

105. like the composition, etc. Show that this is not a simile. 

106-111. Show the touch of humor in the concluding paragraph. Is it qiciei 
or broad humor ? , 



THE COVERLEY SABBATH. 



135 



faces and in their cleanliest habits* to converse with one another 
upon indifferent subjects, hear their duties explained to them, and 
join together in adoration of the Supreme Being.- Sunday clears 10 
away the rust of the whole week, not only as it refreshes in their 
minds the notions of religion, but as it puts both the sexes upon 
ajDpearing in their most agreeable forms and exerting all such 
qualities as are apt to give them a figure in the eye of the village. 
A country fellow distinguishes himself as much in the church- is 
yard as a citizen does upon the 'Change, the whole parish poli- 
tics* being generally discussed in that place either after sermon 
or before the bell rings. 

2. My friend Sir Roger, being a good churchman, has beauti- 
fied the inside of his church with several texts of his own choos- 20 
ing. He has likewise given a handsome pulpit cloth, and railed 
in the communion-table at his own expense. He has often told 
me that at his coming to his estate he found his parishioners 
very irregular, and that, in order to make them kneel and join 
in the responses, he gave every one of them a hassock* and a 25 
Common-Prayer Book, and at the same time employed an itiner- 
ant singing-master, who goes about the qountry for that purpose, 
to instruct them rightly in the tunes of the psalms, upon which 
they now very much value themselves, and, indeed, outdo most 
of the country churches that I have ever heard. 30 

3. As Sir Roger is landlord to the whole congregation, he keeps 
them in very good order, and will suffer nobody to sleep in it be- 
sides himself ; for if by chance he has been surprised into a short 
nap at sermon, upon recovering out of it he stands up and looks 
about him, and if he sees anybody else nodding, either wakes 35 
them himself or sends his servant to them. Several other of 



8. habits, attire, clothes. 

12. puts . . . upon, induces. 

16. 'Change = Exchange. 

16, 17. politics. The word is treated 
as singular, and hence may take 
the adjunct " whole." 

19. churchman : that is. Episcopalian as 
distinguished from a Presbyte- 
rian or Congregationalist : here 



it seems to signify a devoted 
member of the church. 

25. hassock, a thick mat on which to 
kneel in church. 

34. out of it = from it. 

36. them. The antecedent of " them " 
being "anybody" (sing.), /«>« 
should be used according to 
strict grammar. 



136 



ADDISON. 



the old knight's particularities break out upon these occasions : 
sometimes he will be lengthening out a verse in the singing 
psalms half a minute after the rest of the congregation have done 
with it ; sometimes, when he is pleased with the matter of his de- 40 
votion, he pronounces amen* three or four times to the same 
prayer ; and sometimes stands up when everybody else is upon 
their knees to count the congregation, or see if any of his tenants 
are missing. 

4. I was yesterday very much surprised to hear my old friend, 45 
in the midst of the service, calling out to one John Matthews to 
mind what he was about, and not disturb the congregation. This 
John Matthews, it seems, is remarkable for being an idle fellow, 
and at that time was kicking his heels for his diversion. This 
authority of the knight, though exerted in that odd manner 5° 
which accompanies him in all circumstances of life, has a very 
good effect upon the parishioners, who are not polite* enough 
to see anything ridiculous in his behavior ; besides that, the 
general good sense and worthiness of his character make his 
friends observe these little singularities as foils that rather set 55 
off than blemish his goqd qualities. 

5. As soon as the sermon is finished, nobody presumes to stir 
till Sir Roger is gone out of the church. The knight walks down 
from his seat in the chancel between a double row of his tenants 
that stand bowing to him on each side ; and every now and then 60 
inquires how such a one's wife, or mother, or son, or father do 
whom he does not see at church ; which is understood as a secret 
reprimand to the person that is absent. 

6. The chaplain has often told me that upon a catechising day, 
when Sir Roger has been pleased with a boy that answers well, 65 
he has ordered a Bible to be given him next day for his encour- 



37. particularities, peculiarities. 
39. have. Modern usage requires the 
singular number. 

52. polite: that is, in the sense of the 

"fine manners" of the city- 

53. besides that. Modern practice 

omits *• that." ^ 

55. foils. A fvil is something that 



58. is 
61. do, 



"sets off" another thing to ad- 
vantage, so that the phrase 
used is somewhat redundant. 
"Rather. set off than blemish" 
is better thus : " Set off rather 
than blemish." 
gone. See page 6, note 12. 
Strict grammar requires does. 



THE COVER LEY SABBATH. 



137 



agement, and sometimes accompanies it with a flitch of bacon to 
his mother. Sir Roger has likewise added five pounds a year to 
the clerk's* place; and, that he may encourage the young fel- 
lows to make themselves perfect in the church service, has prom- 7° 
ised, upon the death of the present incumbent, who is very old, 
to bestow it according to merit. 

7. The fair understanding between Sir Roger and his chaplain, 
and their mutual concurrence in doing good, is the more remark- 
able because the very next village is famous for the differences 75 
and contentions that rise between the parson and the squire, who 
live in a perpetual state of war. The parson is always preaching 
at the squire, and the squire, to be revenged on the parson,* 
never comes to church. The squire has made all his tenants 
atheists* and tithe-stealers ; while the parson instructs them so 
every Sunday in the dignity of his 'order, and insinuates to them 
in almost every sermon that he is a better man than his patron. 
In short, matters are come to such an extremity that the squire 
has not said his prayers either in public or private this half year, 
and that the parson threatens him, if he does not mend his man- 85 
ners, to pray for him in the face of the whole congregation. 

8. Feuds of this nature, though too frequent in the country, 
are very fatal to the ordinary people, who are so used to be daz- 
zled with riches that they pay as much deference to the under- 
standing of a man of an estate as of a man of learning ; and are 9° 
very hardly brought to regard any truth, how important soever it 
may be, that is preached to them when they know there are sev- 
eral men of five hundred a year who do not believe it. 



67. fliteli, the side of a hog salted and : 80. tithes, the allotment of money to 



cured. 

69. clerk, a parish officer, being a lay- 
man who leads in reading the 
responses of the Episcopal 
Church service. 



the clergy for their support ; 
and stealers are those who keep 
these back. 
91. very hardly: that is, with great dif- 
culty. 



138 



ADDISON. 



III.— SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY (Spectator No. 329). 

1. My friend Sir Roger de Coverley told me t'other night 
that he had been reading my paper upon Westminster Abbey, in 
which, says he, there are a great many ingenious fancies. He 
told me, at the same time, that he observed I had promised an- 
other paper upon the tombs, and that he should be glad to go 5 
and see them with me, not having visited them since he had read 
history. I could not, at first, imagine how this came into the 
knight's head, till I recollected that he had been very busy all 
last summer upon Baker's Chronicle, which he has quoted several 
times in his disputes with Sir Andrew Freeport since his last 10 
coming to town. Accordingly, I promised to call upon him the 
next morning, that we might go together to the Abbey. 

2. I found the knight und'er his butler's hands, who always 
shaves him. He was no sooner dressed than he called for a 
glass of the Widow Trueby's water, which he told me he always is 



1. t'other = the other (colloquial). 

2. luy paper. In a previous number 

of the Spectatoj- (No. 26) was an 
essay on Westminster ; but it 
is not Addison's. — Westniiiister 
Abbey is a cathedral in West- 
minster, which is a borough 
forming a part of London. It 
dates (though not in its present 
state) from the yth century A.D. 
Here the British sovereigns, 
from Edward the Confessor 
to Queen Victoria, have been 
crowned ; here, also, are monu- 
ments to most of the great poets, 
and to other illustrious English- 
men. (For the etymology of 
"minster" and "abbey," see 
Glossary.) 
9. Baker's Chronicle. The book is en- 
titled Chronicle of the Kings of 
England. Its author, Sir Rich- 
ard Balv-ev, was born 1568 (four 
years after Shakespeare). The 



work was exceedingly popular 
with the squires of the school 
of Sir Roger during the 17th 
and 1 8th centuries. 

10. Sir Andrew Freeport, one of the mem- 
bers of the imaginary club to 
which the Spectator and Sir 
Roger belonged. 

13. his butler's hands, who, etc. Our 
neater modern form of state- 
ment would be "the hands of 
his butler, who," etc. 

15. IVidow Trueby's water. "One of 
the innumerable 'strong waters,' 
drunk, it is said (perhaps libel- 
lously), chiefly by the fair sex 
as an exhilarant ; the excuses 
being the colic and ' the vapors.' 
Addison, who pretends in the 
text to find it unpalatable, is ac- 
cused of having been a constant 
imbiber of the Widow's distil- 
lations." — Wills : Sir Roger 
de Coverley. 



SIR ROGER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



139 



drank before he went abroad. He recommended to me a dram ♦ 
of it at the same time with so much heartiness that I could not 
forbear drinking it. As soon as I had got it down I found it 
very unpalatable ; upon which the knight, observing that I had 
made several wry faces, told me that he knew I should not like 20 
it at first, but that it was the best thing in the world against the 
stone or gravel. 

3. I could have wished, indeed, that he had acquainted me 
with the virtues of it sooner ; but it was too late to complain, 
and I knew what he had done was out of good-will. Sir Roger 25 
told me further that he looked upon it to be very good for a man 
whilst he stayed in town, to keep off infection ; and that he got 
together a quantity of it upon the first news of the sickness be- 
ing at Dantzic. When, of a sudden, turning short to one of his 
servants who stood behind him, he bade him call a hackney- 30 
coach, and take care it was an elderly man that drove it. 

4. He then resumed his discourse upon Mrs. Trueby's water, 
telling me that the Widow Trueby was one who did more good 
than all the doctors and apothecaries * in the country ; that she 
distilled every poppy that grew within five miles of her; that she 35 
distributed her water gratis * among all sorts of people ; to which 
the knight added that she had a very great jointure, and that the 
whole country would fain* have it a match between him and her. 
"And truly," said Sir Roger, "if I had not been engaged, per- 
haps I could not have done better." 4° 

5. His discourse was broken off by his man telling him he had 
called a coach. Upon our going to it, after having cast his eye 
upon the wheels, he asked the coachman if his axle-tree was 
good. Upon the fellow telling him he would warrant it, the 
knight turned to me, told me he looked like an honest man, and 45 
went in without further ceremony. 

6. We had not gone far when Sir Roger, popping out his head. 



16. abroad: that is, not to a foreign 

country, but merely out of the 

house. 
28, 29. sickness . . . Dantzic : that is, 

the plague, which raged there 

in 1709. 



30. hackney-coach, a coach kept for hire, 
a hack. 

37. jointure, an estate settled on a wife, 

and which she is to enjoy after 
becoming a widow. 

38. faiu, gladly. 



140 



ADDISON. 



called the coachman down from his box, and, upon his pre- 
senting himself at the window, asked him if he smoked. As 
I was considering what this would end in, he bade him stop 50 
by the way at any good tobacconist's, and take in a roll of 
their best Virginia. Nothing material happened in the remain- 
ing part of our journey till we were set down at the west end 
of the Abbey. 

7. As we went up the body of the church, the knight pointed 55 
at the trophies * upon one of the new monuments, and cried out, 
"A brave man, I warrant him!" Passing afterwards by Sir 
Cloudesley Shovel, he flung his hand that way, and cried, " Sir 
Cloudesley Shovel ! a very gallant man !" As we stood before 
Busby's tomb, the knight uttered himself again after the same 60 
manner : " Dr. Busby — a great man ! He whipped my grand- 
father — a very great man ! I should have gone to him myself if 

I had not been a blockhead — a very great man !" 

8. We were immediately conducted into the little chapel on 
the right hand. Sir Roger, planting himself at our historian's 65 
elbow, was very attentive to everything he said, particularly to 
the account he gave us of the lord who had cut off the King of 
Morocco's head. Among several other figures, he was very well 



52. Virginia was the common name for 
tobacco in England in Addi- 
son's time. The reason is ob- 
vious, the plant having first 
been introduced into England 
by Sir Walter Raleigh, who, it 
will be remembered, was deep- 
ly interested in colonizing " Vir- 
ginia." 

56. trophies. A trophy is a represen- 

tation of a pile of arms, offen- 
sive and defensive. 

57, 58. Passing ... by Sir Cloudesley 

Shovel: that is, passing by his 
monument. Sir Cloudesley 
Shovel (born 1650) rose from 
cabin-boy to be an admiral, and 
figures as one of the great sea- 



men in the annals of the British 
navy. His vessel was wrecked 
off the Scilly Isles (on the Eng- 
lish coast) in 1707. His mon- 
ument is in the south aisle of 
the choir. 
61. Dr. Busby. The doctor was head- 
master of Westminster School 
for fifty- five years, and trained 
many eminent scholars, whom 
as school-boys he vigorously 
trounced. He died 1695. 

64, 65. little chapel on the right hand : 

that is, the chapel of St. Ed- 
mund. 

65. historian : that is, the attendant 

who conducts visitors through 
the Abbey. 



SIR ROGER IN- WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



141 



pleased to see the statesman Cecil upon his knees ; and, con- 
cluding them all to be great men, was conducted to the figure 7° 
which represents that martyr to good housewifery who died by 
the prick of a needle. Upon our interpreter telling us that she 
was a maid of honor to Queen Elizabeth, the knight was very 
inquisitive into her name and family ; and, after having regarded 
her finger for some time, " I wonder," says he, " that Sir Richard 7s 
Baker has said nothing of her in his Chronicle." 

g. We were then conveyed to the two coronation chairs, where 
my old friend, after having heard that the stone underneath the 
most ancient of them, which was brought from Scotland, was 
called Jacob's Pillow, sat himself down in the chair, and, looking 80 
like the figure of an old Gothic king, asked our interpreter what 
authority they had to say that Jacob had ever been in Scotland ? 
The fellow, instead of returning him an answer, told him that he 
hoped his honor would pay his forfeit. I could observe Sir 
Roger a little ruffled upon being thus trepanned ; but, our guide Ss 
not insisting upon his demand, the knight soon recovered his 



69. the statesman Cecil (born aboift the 
middle of the i6th century, -died 
1612) was the son of the great 
Lord Burleigh, and held high 
office under Queen Elizabeth 
and James I. 

71. that martjT, etc This figure is de- 
scribed in Murray's London as 
" an alabaster statue of Eliza- 
beth Russell, of the Bedford fam- 
ily — foolishly shown for many 
years as the lady who died by 
the prick of a needle." Gold- 
smith states that the story was 
one ofthe " hundredlies " which, 
in his day, the attendant was in 
the habit of telling "without 
blushing." 

77. the two coronation chairs. These 
two chairs, still used at the 
coronations of the sovereigns 
of Great Britain, are in the 



chapel of Edward the Confessor 
(on whom, see note 95). One of 
them, the most ancient, contains 
the famous "stone of Scone," 
on which the Scottish kings 
were wont to be crowned, and 
which Edward I. carried away 
with him as an evidence of his 
absolute conquest of Scotland 
in 1304. How it got the name 
of Jacob's Pillow (see line 80) 
is difficult to trace. It is a 
piece of common rough Scotch 
sandstone ; and Sir Roger's 
question was extremely perti- 
nent. The other coronation 
chair was placed in the Abbey 
in the reign of William and 
Mary (1688). 

84. pay his forfeit: namely, for having 

sat down on the chair. 

85. trepanned, ensnared, caught. 



142 



ADDISON. 



good-humor, and whispered in my ear that if Will Wimble were 
with us, and saw those two chairs, it would go hard but he would 
get a tobacco-stopper out of one or t'other of them. 

10. Sir Roger, in the next place, laid his hand upon Edward 90 
the Third's sword, and, leaning upon the pommel of it, gave us 
the whole history of the Black Prince, concluding that in Sir 
Richard Baker's opinion Edward the Third was one of the 
greatest princes that ever sat upon the English throne. We 
were then shown Edward the Confessor's tomb, upon which Sir 95 
Roger acquainted us that he was the first who touched for the 
evil, and afterwards Henry the Fourth's, upon which he shook 
his head, and told us there was fine reading in the casualties of 
that reign. 

11. Our conductor then pointed to that monument where there 100 
is the figure of one of our English kings without a head ; and 
upon giving us to know that the head, which was of beaten silver, 
had been stolen away several years since, " Some Whig, I'll war- 
rant you," says Sir Roger: "you ought to lock up your kings 
better; they will carry off the body too if you don't take care." 105 



87. Will Wimble. " Will " figures in 
some of the early Spectator pa- 
pers as a neighbor and friend 
of Sir Roger. He was fond of 
whittling tobacco-stoppers and 
various other bits of handicraft. 

90, 91. Edward the Tliird's sword. Ed- 
ward the Third, father of the 
Black Prince, began to reign 
1327, and died 1376. He con- 
quered a great part of France. 
His sword, " the monumental 
sword that conquered France," 
and which he caused to be car- 
ried before him in that country, 
is seven feet long. It is placed 
with his shield near his tomb. 
The altar-tomb with effigy of 
Edward HI. is in the chapel of 
Edward the Confessor. 



95. Edward the Confessor (that is, Ed- 

ward HI. in the Saxon line, and 
who reigned 1041 to 1065) en- 
larged Westminster Abbey, 

96, 97. for the evil : that is, the " king's 

evil," a scrofulous disease, for- 
merly supposed to be cured by 
the touch of a king. 
98. flue reading, etc. See Shake- 
speare's Henry IV. 

loi. without a head. This is the ef- 
figy of Henry V., which also is 
in the chapel of Edward the 
Confessor. The head, which 
was of solid silver, was stolen 
at the time of the Protestant 
Reformation. 

103. Some Whig. Sir Roger was a Tory, 
of course. On these words, see 
Macaulay's Engl. vol. i. p. 241, 



S//^ ROGER PASSE TH AWAY. 



143 



12. The glorious names of Henry the Fifth and Queen Eliza- 
beth gave the knight great opportunities of shining and of doing 
justice to Sir Richard Baker, who, as our knight observed with 
some surprise, had a great many kings in him whose monuments 
he had not seen in the Abbey. For my own part, I could not no 
but be pleased to see the knight show such an honest passion 
for the glory of his country, and such a respectful gratitude to 
the memory of its princes. 

13. I must not omit that the benevolence of my good old friend, 
which flows out towards every one he converses with, made him 115 
very kind to our interpreter, whom he looked upon as an ex- 
traordinary man ; for which reason he shook him by the hand at 
parting, telling him that he should be very glad to see him at his 
lodgings in Norfolk Buildings, and talk over these matters with 
him more at leisure. 120 



IV.— SIR ROGER PASSETH AWAY (Spectator No. 517). 

I. We last night received a piece of ill news at our club, which 
very sensibly afflicted every one of us. I question not but my 
readers themselves will be troubled at the hearing of it. To 
keep them no longer in suspense. Sir Roger de Coverley is dead. 
He departed this life at his house in the country, after a few s 
weeks' sickness. Sir Andrew Freeport has a letter from one of 
his correspondents in those parts that informs him the old man 
caught a cold at the county sessions as he was very warmly pro- 
moting an address of his own penning, in which he succeeded 
according to his wishes. But this particular comes from a Whig lo 
justice of peace who was always Sir Roger's enemy and antag- 
onist. I have letters both from the chaplain and Captain Sen- 



106, 107. Henry V. reigned 1413-1422 ; 
Elizabeth reigned 1 558-1603. 



4.. Sir Roger de Corerley is dead. A 

contemporary writer says : "Mr. 
Addison was so fond of this 
character that a little before he 
laid down the Spectator (fore- 
seeing that some nimble gentle- 
man would catch up his pen the 



moment he quitted it), he said 
to a friend, with a certainwarmth 
in his expression which he was 
not often guilty of, ' I'll kill Sir 
Roger, that nobody else may 
murder him.' " 
8, 9. proiiioting-, sustaining in a speech. 
12, 13. Captain Sentrey, Sir Roger's 
nephew and heir (see below, 
line 63). 



144 



ADDISON. 



trey which mention nothing of it, but are filled with many partic- 
ulars to the honor of the good old man. I have likewise a letter 
from the butler, who took so much care of me last summer when 15 
I was at the knight's house. As my friend the butler mentions, 
in the simplicity of his heart, several circumstances the others 
have passed over in silence, I shall give my reader a copy of his 
letter without any alteration or diminution : 

" Honored Sir, — Knowing that you was my old master's good 20 
friend,- 1 could not forbear sending you the melancholy news of 
his death, which has afflicted the whole country, as well as his 
poor servants, who loved him, I may say, better than we did our 
lives. I am afraid he caught his death the last county sessions, 
where he would go to see justice done to a poor widow woman 25 
and her fatherless children that had been wronged by a neigh- 
boring gentleman ; for you know, sir, my good master was always 
the poor man's friend. Upon his coming home, the first com- 
plaint he made was that he had lost his roast-beef stomach, not 
being able to touch a sirloin* which was served up according to 30 
custom ; and you know he used to take great delight in it. From 
that time forward he grew worse and worse, but still kept a good 
heart to the last. Indeed, we were orice in great hope of his re- 
covery, upon a kind message that was sent him from the widow * 
lady whom he had made love to the forty last years of his life; 35 



20. Honored Sir, etc. Notice the ad- 
mirable art with which the 
character of the honest butler 
is assumed, and the delicate 
lights and shades of expression 
suitable to the character. 



34, 35. widow lady, etc. A hint of a 
youthful heart-disappointment, 
and of a "perverse beautiful 
widow," the occasion whereof 
appears in the first slight sketch 
of Sir Roger by Steele.' 



' " It is said he keeps himself a bachelor by reason he was crossed in love 
by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disap- 
pointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped 
with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, fought a duel upon his 
first coming to town, and kicked Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house for 
calling him youngster. But being ill-used by the above-mentioned widow, 
he was very serious for a year and a half; and though, his temper being nat- 
urally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself, and never 
dressed afterwards." 



S/J? ROGER PASSETH AWAY. 



145 



but this only proved a lightning before death. He has bequeathed 
to this lady, as a token of his love, a great pearl necklace and a 
couple of silver bracelets set with jewels, which belonged to my 
good old lady his mother : he has bequeathed the fine white geld- 
ing that he used to ride a-hunting upon to his chaplain, because 40 
he thought he would be kind to him ; and has left you all his 
books. He has, moreover, bequeathed to the chaplain a very 
pretty tenement* with good lands about it. It being a very cold 
clay when he made his will, he left for mourning to every man in 
the parish a great frieze * coat, and to every woman a black rid- 4s 
ing-hood. It was a most moving sight to see him take leave of 
his poor servants, commending us all for our fidelity, whilst we 
were not able to speak a word for weeping. As we most of us 
are grown gray-headed in our dear master's service, he has left 
us pensions and legacies which we may live very comfortly upon 5° 
the remaining part of our days. He has bequeathed a great deal 
more in charity which is not yet come to my knowledge, and it 
is peremptorily said in the parish that he has left money to build 
a steeple to the church ; for he was heard to say some time ago 
that if he lived two years longer, Coverley Church should have a 55 
steeple to it. The chaplain tells everybody that he made a very 
good end, and never speaks of him without tears. He was bur- 
ied, according to his own directions, among the family of the 
Coverlies, on the left hand of his father. Sir Arthur. The coffin 
was carried by six of his tenants, and the pall held up by six of 60 
the quorum :* the whole parish followed the corpse with heavy 
hearts, and in their mourning suits — the men in frieze and the 
women in riding-hoods. Captain Sentrey, my master's nephew, 
has taken possession of the Hall-house and the whole estate. 
When my old master saw him a little before his death, he shook 65 
him by the hand, and wished him joy of the estate which was 
falling to him, desiring him only to make a good use of it, and to 
pay the several legacies, and the gifts of charity which he told 



43. teii«?meiit. In England, a house 
depending on a manor (the 
land belonging to a nobleman). 

45- frieze, coarse woollen cloth. 

56, 57- he made a very good end. Com- 
pare with Dame Quickly's ac- 
10 



count of the death of Falstaff 
(Shakespeare's Henry V. act ii. 
scene 3) : " ''A made a finer end, 
and went away, an it had been 
any christom child." 
61. quorum, the justice-court. 



146 



ADDISOM. 



him he had left as quit-rents upon the estate. The captain, truly, 
seems a courteous man, though he says but little. He makes 70 
much of those whom my master loved, and shows great kindnesses 
to the old house-dog that you know my poor master was so fond 
of. It would have gone to your heart to have heard the moans 
the dumb creature made on the day of my master's death. He 
has never joyed himself since ; no more has any of us. 'Twas 75 
the melancholiest day for the poor people that ever happened in 
Worcestershire. This is all from, 

" Honored sir, your most sorrowful servant, 

" Edward Biscuit. 
" P. S. — My master desired, some weeks before he died, that a 80 
book which comfes up to you by the carrier should be given to 
Sir Andrew Freeport, in his name." 



2. This letter, notwithstanding the poor butler's manner of 
writing it, gave us such an idea of our good old friend that upon 
the reading of it there was not a dry eye in the club. Sir An- 85 
drew, opening the book, found it to be a collection of Acts of 
Parliament. There was, in . particular, the Act of Uniformity, 
with some passages in it marked by Sir Roger's own hand. Sir 
Andrew found that they related to two or three points which he 
had disputed with Sir Roger the last time he appeared at the 9° 
club. Sir Andrew, who would have been merry at such an in- 
cident on another occasion, at the sight of the old man's hand- 
writing burst into tears, and put the book into his pocket. Cap- 
tain Sentrey informs us that the knight has left rings and mourn- 
ing for every one in the club. 95 



69. quit-rent, a rent reserved, in the 
grant of land, by the payment 
of which the tenant is qicieied 
or quitted from all other ser- 
vice. 
Act of Uniformity. This act, or law, 
was passed by the English Par- 
liament in 1662, during the reign 
of Charles II. It required all 
clergymen holding benefices to 
declare their " unfeigned as- 



87 



93 



sent and consent " to every- 
thing contained in the revised 
Prayer-book, and to receive or- 
dination from a bishop. In one 
day it threw out three thousand 
ministers from the benefices 
they held. 
burst into tears, etc. The circum- 
stance of the book is noted by 
all critics as an irresistible 
stroke of nature. 



IX. 

ALEXANDER POPE. 

1688-1744. 



-- ---^.^Ri 




y. 4^ 



DR. JOHNSON'S PARALLEL BETWEEN POPE AND DRY- 

DEN.i 

I. Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden, 
whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised through 
his whole life with unvarying liberality ; and perhaps his char- 

' From Johnson's Lives of the Poets. 



148 POPE. 

acter may receive some illustration if he be compared with his 
master. 

2. Integrity of understanding and nicety of discernment were 
not allotted in a less proportion to Dryden than to Pope. The 
rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently shown by the dismis- 
sion of his poetical prejudices, and the rejection of unnatural 
thoughts and rugged numbers. But Dryden never desired to 
apply all the judgment that he had. He wrote, and professed 
to write, merely for the people ; and when he pleased others, he 
contented himself. He spent no time in struggles to rouse la- 
tent powers ; he never attempted to make that better which was 
already good, nor often to mend what he must have known to be 
faulty. He wrote, as he tells us, with very little consideration. 
When occasion or necessity called upon him, he poured out what 
the present moment happened to supply, and, when once it had 
passed the press, ejected it from his mind; for when he had no 
pecuniary interest, he had no further solicitude. 

3. Pope was not content to satisfy; he desired to excel, and 
therefore always endeavored to do his best. He did not court 
the candor, but dared the judgment, of his reader, and, expecting 
no indulgence from others, he showed none to himself. He ex- 
amined lines and words with minute and punctilious observation, 
and retouched every part with indefatigable diligence, till he had 
left nothing to be forgiven. 

4. His declaration that his care for his works ceased at their 
publication was not strictly true. His parental attention never 
abandoned them : what he found amiss in the first edition he si- 
lently corrected in those that followed. He appears to have re- 
vised the Iliad, and freed it from some of its imperfections ; and 
the Essay oti Criticism received many improvements after its first 
appearance. It will seldom be found that he altered without add- 
ing clearness, elegance; or vigor. Pope had perhaps the judgment 
of Dryden ; but Dryden certainly wanted the diligence of Pope. 

5. In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed to 
Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and who, before 
he became an author, had been allowed more time for study, 
with better means of information. His mind has a larger range, 
and he collects his images and illustrations from a more exten- 
sive circumference of science. Dryden knew more of man in 



yOHNSON'S PARALLEL. 140 

his general nature, and Pope in his local manners. The notions 
of Dryden were formed by comprehensive speculation, and those 
of Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in the 
knowledge of Drj^den, and more certainty in that of Pope. 

6. Poetry was not the sole praise of either ; for both excelled 
likewise in prose ; but Pope did not borrow his prose from his 
predecessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied ; that 
of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the' motions of 
his own mind ; Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of 
composition. Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; Pope 
is always smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page is a nat- 
ural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by the varied 
exuberance of abundant vegetation ; Pope's is a velvet lawn, 
shaven by the scythe and levelled by the roller. 

7. Of genius — that power which constitutes a poet; that qual- 
ity without which judgment is cold and knowledge is inert ; that 
energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates — the 
superiority must, with some hesitation, be allowed to Dryden. 
It is not to be inferred that of this poetical vigor Pope had only a 
little, because Dryden had more ; for every other writer since Mil- 
ton must give place to Pope ; and even of Dryden it must be said 
that if he has brighter paragraphs, he has not better poems. 

8. Dryden's performances were always hasty, either excited 
by some external occasion or extorted by domestic necessity. 
He composed without consideration, and published without cor- 
rection. What his mind could supply at call, or gather in one 
excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he gave. The 
dilatory caution of Pope enabled him to condense his sentiments, 
to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that study might 
produce or chance might supply. If the flights of Dryden, there- 
fore, are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing. If of Dry- 
den's fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular 
and constant. Dryden often surpasses expectation, and Pope 
never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment, 
and Pope with perpetual delight. 



15° 



POPE. 



ESSAY ON MAN.— Epistle I. 

[Introduction. — The Essay on Man consists of four Epistles, of which the 
first is here given entire. The title imperfectly describes the contents of the 
Essay, which is less a treatise on man than on the moral order of the world of 
which man is a part. It is a vindication of Providence — a vindication brought 
about by showing that the appearances of evil in the world arise from our see- 
ing only a part of the whole. The philosophy of the poem is neither profound 
nor consistent; but this is not material, for the value of the Essay is in its 
workmanship. It is a masterpiece of metrical composition, and the student 
cannot find a more instructive model to dwell upon and to analyze. 

The Essay on Man is composed in the rhymed couplet of verses of five ac- 
cents. The caesural pause may fall after the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, or the 
seventh syllable : thus (marking the caesura with a double line) — 

Awake,' | my Saint' | John ! || leave' | all mean- | er things 
To low' I ambi'- | tion, || and' | the pride' | of kings. 
Let us' I (since life' || can lit'- | tie more' | su'iply' 
Than just' | to look' | about' | us || and' | to die) 
Expa'- I tiate free' j| o'er all' | this scene' | of man'. 

While the versification is exquisite, it should also be observed that it is not 
faultless ; and there are seventeen imperfect rhymes in the First Epistle.] 

I. 
Awake, my St. John ! leave all meaner things 
To low ambition,* and the pride of kings. 
Let us (since life can little more supply 
Than just to look about us and to die) 



Notes. — Line i. my 8t. John (pro- 
nounced sen'jin), Henry St. 
John, Lord Bolingbroke (1678- 
1 751), an English statesman and 
author. He was an intimate 
friend of Pope, and is said to 
have supplied the argument of 
the Essay on Man. This is 



probably an overstatement, 
though it was doubtless through 
Bolingbroke's conversation and 
correspondence that Pope was 
led to indulge in the kind of 
speculations and reflections 
that form the basis of the Es- 
say. 



Literary Analysis.— 1-16. To what class, grammatically considered, does 
each of the first four sentences belong ? 

2. low ambition. What is the figure of speech .' (See Def. 28.) — Give the 
etymology of " ambition." 



ESS A Y ON MAN. 

Expatiate* free o'er all this scene of man ; 
A mighty maze ! * but not without a plan ; 
A wild, where weeds and flowers promiscuous shoot ; 
Or garden tempting with forbidden fruit. 
Together let us beat this ample field, 
Try what the open, what the covert* yield ! 
The latent * tracts, the giddy heights, explore 
Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar ; 
Eye nature's walks, shoot folly as it flies. 
And catch the manners living as they rise : 
Laugh where we must, be candid* where we can ; 
But vindicate* the ways of God to man. 
Say first, of God above or man below. 
What can we reason but from what we know .'' 
Of man, what see we but his station here, 
From which to reason, or to which refer ? 
Through worlds unnumbered though the God be known, 
'Tis ours to trace him only in our own. 



151 



6. maze, a confusing and baffling net- 
work of paths or passages ; a 
labyrinth. 

9. beat this ample field. " To beat " 

is to range over in hunting. 
10. tlie open . . . the covert. " Open " 
is here a noun ; a " covert " is 
a thicket affording a shelter to 
game. 



13. Eye nature's walks: that is, observe 
the phenomena of nature. 

16. vindicate the ways, etc. This is an 
adaptation of Milton's line 
{Paradise Lost, Book I., line 
26): 

'* Justify the ways of God to man.'' 

17- of God: that is, concerning or re- 
specting God. 



Literary Analysis. — 5. free. For what part of speech is "free" used by 
enallage? (See Def 41.) — scene. What three nouns are in apposition with 
this word ? 

6-8. Point out words used metaphorically to denote "this scene of man" 
[— human life). 

9, 10. beat ... yield. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) Change 
into a simile. 

15. candid. Give the etymology of " candid." 

17-20. Say first . . . refer. What kind of sentences are these grammatically ? 



152 



POPE. 



He, who through vast immensity can pierce, 

See worlds on worlds compose one universe, 

Observe how system into system runs. 

What other planets * circle other suns, 

What varied being peoples every star, 

May tell why heaven* has made us as we are. 

But of this frame the bearings and the ties, 

The strong connections, nice dependencies. 

Gradations just, has thy pervading soul 

Looked through ? or can a part contain the whole ? 

Is the great chain, that draws all to agree. 
And drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee ? 
Presumptuous* man ! the reason wouldst thou find 
Why formed so weak, so little, and so blind ? 
First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess. 
Why formed no "weaker, blinder, and no less ? 
Ask of thy mother earth why oaks are made 
Taller or stronger than the weeds they shade. 



36. circle = circle around. 

29. this frame, this universe. Tlie 
original meaning of " frame " is 
anything composed of parts 



fitted and united together. By 
the Greeks the universe was 
called cosmos (order), from its 
perfect arrangement. 



Literary Analysis. — 23-28. He, who . . . are. What kind of sentence is 
this grammatically ? — What is the principal proposition ? The dependent 
clauses? — Supply the ellipses. — -To what pronoun are these clauses adjuncts? 

29-31. What preposition, expressed or understood, governs the following 
nouns — "bearings;" "ties;" "connections;" "dependencies;" "Grada- 
tions ?" 

33. 34. Is . . . thee. What is the rhetorical force of this interrogative sen- 
tence ? 

34. And drawn supports. Supply the ellipsis. 

35. Presumptuous. Give the derivation of this word. 

36. Why formed . . . blind. Supply the ellipsis. — Of what verb are " weak," 
"little," and "blind" the complements? 

39-42. Ask . . . Jore. Are these two sentences interrogative, or are they im- 
perative ? 



ESSAY ON MAN. 

Or ask of yonder argent * fields above 
Why Jove's satellites * are less than Jove. 

Of systems possible, if 'tis confest 
That Wisdom Infinite * must form the best, 
Where all must full or not coherent * be, 
And all that rises, rise in due degree ; 
Then, in the scale of reasoning life, 'tis plain. 
There must be, somewhere, such a rank as man : 
And all the question (wrangle e'er so long) 
Is only this, if God has placed him wrong ? 

Respecting man, whatever wrong we call 
May, must, be right, as relative to all. 
In human works, though labored on with pain, 
A thousand movements scarce one pur^Dose gain ; 
In God's, one single can its end produce ; 
Yet serves to second,* too, some other use. 



153 



41. yonder argent fields. "Argent," re- 

sembling silver ; hence shining, 
brilliant. Compare Milton's 
phrase, " those argent fields." 

42. satellites — pronounced in Pope's 

time sa-teV -li-tes} Jupiter's 
(or, as Pope, for metre's sake, 



has it, Jove's) four satellites 
were discovered by Galileo in 
1610. 

45. full, complete in every intermedi- 
ate rank and degree. 

47- reasoning life = rational beings. 

50. if = whether. 



Literary Analysis. — 45. coherent. Show that this word retains here its 
original meaning. 

46. rise. What auxiliary is understood? 

47. 48. Query as to the rhyme. 

48. man. Supply the ellipsis. 

49. e'er so long. What part of speech is "long.?" — What does "so" modi- 
fy? — What does "e'er" modify? 

50. 51. wrong. What part of speech is "wrong" in line 50? In 51 ? 

54. scarce. What is the prose form of this word ? 

55. one single. Supply the ellipsis. 

56. to second. What part of speech ? Etymology and meaning? 



' In Webster's Dictionary it is stated that this pronunciation is given by 
■'an unusual stretch of poetic license ;" but this is an error : the word was, in 
Pope's time, scarcely naturalized, and still retained the original classical pro- 
nunciation. 



154 



POPE. 



So man, who here seems principal* alone, 
Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown, 
Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal ; 
'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole. 

When the proud steed shall know why man restrains 
His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains ; 
When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod, 
Is now a victim, and now Egypt's god : 
Then shall man's pride and dulness comprehend 
His actions', passions', being's, use and end ; 
Why doing, suffering, checked, impelled ; and why 
This hour a slave, the next a deity. 

Then say not man 's imperfect. Heaven in fault; 
Say, rather,* man 's as perfect as he ought : 
His knowledge measured to his state and place ; 
His time a moment, and a point his space. 
If to be perfect in a certain sphere, 
What matter, soon or late, or here or there ? 
The blest to-day is as completely so 
As who began a thousand years ago. 



65 



64. Egypt's god. The reference is to 
the sacred bull kept at Mem- 
phis, and called Apis by the 
Greeks. 

70. as he ought: that is, as he ought to 
be. 

73-76. If to he perfect . . . ago. " These 
four lines were in the first edition 



of 1732 after line 98. They are 
irrelevant to the argument, and 
Pope struck them out accord- 
ingly in the edition revised by 
himself in 1 740. Warburton 
replaced them in the quarto of 
1743 in their present position." 
— Pattieson : Pope's Essay. 



Literary Analysis. — 58. second. "What part of speech } Etymology and 
meaning .'' 

59. Touches some wheel. Explain the metaphor. 

61-68. M'hen the proud steed ... .1 deity. Supply the ellipsis, and analyze 
this sentence. 

69. Then say. What two clauses are the object of "say?" 

70. S.ay, rather. What four clauses are the object of "say .'" 
73. If to be perfect. Supply the ellipsis. 

73, 74. Query as to the rhyme. 

76. As who began, etc. What pronoun and what verb are here understood? 



ESSAY ON MAN. 



15s 



Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate, 
All but the page prescribed, their present state : 
From brutes what men, from men what spirits,* know 
Or who could suffer being here below ? 
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day. 
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? 
Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, 
And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. 
O blindness to the future ! kindly given, 
That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven : 
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall. 
Atoms* or systems into ruin hurled, 
And now a bubble burst, and now a world. 

Hope humbly then ; with trembling pinions * soar ; 
Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. 
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know. 
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. 
Hope springs eternal in the human breast ; 
Man never is, but always to be blest: 



85 



79. From brutes, etc. : that is, Heaven 

hides from brutes what men 
know, etc. 

80. could suffer being = could suffer ex- 



93' 



istence, suffer to be ("being," a 
gerund or infinitive in -ing). 
Mliat future bliss. Supply shall 
be. 



Literary Analysis. — 77. liides the book of Me. Change from figurative 
to plain language. 

78. All. Object of what verb } 

79. Supply the ellipsis (two words). 

81, 82. The Iamb . . . Had lie. What figure of syntax is here exemplified ? 
(See Def. 42.) 

81-84. Express ''1 your own language the ai-gtiment from example here 
given. 

87, 88. Does this mean that the fall of a hero is of no more account in the 
eye of God than the bursting of a bubble ? What, then, is the meaning t 

87-90. Who sees . . . world. Point out three instances of antithesis in these 
lines. 

91-92. Hope humbly . . . adore. What kind of sentence grammatically ? How- 
many principal propositions does it contain? 

92. teacher. What is the force of " teacher " as applied to death } 

96. Man nerer, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 18.) 



56 



POPE. 

The soul, uneasy and confined from home, 
Rests and expatiates in a life to come. 

Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutored mind 
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind ; 
His soul proud science never taught to stray 
Far as the solar walk or Milky Way ; 
Yet simple* nature to his hope has given, 
Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven ; 
Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, 
Some happier island in the watery waste. 
Where slaves once more their native land behold. 
No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. 
To be, contents his natural desire ; 
He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire ; 
But thinks, admitted to that equal sky. 
His faithful dog shall bear him company.* 

n. 

Go, wiser thou ! and, in thy scale of sense, 
Weigh thy opinion against Providence ; 
Call imperfection what thou fanciest such, 
Say here he gives too little, there too much : 
Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust,* 
Yet cry. If man 's unhappy, God 's unjust ; 



97. home, the future life. [ill. tliat equal sky = that sky where 

102. solar walk, the ecliptic, or path of j equality reigns. 

the earth around the sun. ! 117. gust, pleasure, enjoyment. 



Literary Analysis. — 103. simple. Give the etymology of this word. 

104. liuiubler heaveu. Humbler than what ^ 

106. happier isLiud. Happier than what } 

108. No fiends torment, etc. Explain this by reference to the early history 
of the Spaniards in America. 

1X2. It is an interesting fact that this famous passage (99-112) was com- 
Ijosed by Pope on the basis of an account of the beliefs of the Red Man writ- 
ten by William Penn. 



ESSA Y ON MAN. 



^S1 



If man alone engross not Heaven's high care, 
Alone made perfect here, immortal there : 
Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod, 
Rejudge his justice, be the god of God. 
In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies ; 
All quit their sphere and rush into the skies. 
Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes. 
Men would be angels, angels would be gods. 
Aspiring to be gods if angels fell, 
Aspiring to be angels, men rebel : 
And who but wishes to invert the laws 
Of order, sins against the Eternal Cause. 

Ask for what end the heavenly bodies shine, 
Earth for whose use ? Pride answers, " 'Tis for mine : 
For me kind nature wakes her genial power. 
Suckles each herb, and spreads out every flower ; 
Annual for me, the grape, the rose, renew 
The juice nectareous and the balmy dew ; 
For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings ; 
For me, health gushes from a thousand springs ; 
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise ; 
My footstool earth, my canopy* the skies." 

But errs not nature from this gracious end, 
From burning suns when livid deaths descend. 
When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests sweep 
Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep ? 



120. immortal there: that is, in the fut- 

ure life. 

121. His hand = Heaven's hand ; that 

is, God's hand. 

125. Pride still, etc. The idea seems 
to be that, as of old, in their 
pride the angels would be gods, 
so even man in his ' pride " is 
aiming at the blest abodes." 

127. if angels fell. The "if" is here a 
little misleading : the thought is 
that while the angels aspired to 
be gods and fell, so men aspire 



to be angels, and to that end 
rebel against destiny. 

135. Annual = annually. 

141. But errs not, efc. : that is, does 
not nature deviate from this 
supposed purpose or end of 
hers (see previous lines), so 
highly flattering to man's vani- 

ty? 

143, 144. When earthquakes . . . deep! 

Shortly before Pope wrote the 
Essay, Chili was visited by a 
series of terrible earthquakes, 



^58 



POPE. 

" No ('tis replied) the first Almighty Cause 

Acts not by partial,* but by general laws ; 

The exceptions few ; some change since all began : 

And what created perfect ?" — Why then man ? 

If the great end be human happiness, 

Then nature deviates ;* and can man do less ? 

As much that end a constant course requires 

Of showers and sunshine as of man's desires ; 

As much eternal springs and cloudless skies 

As men forever temperate,* calm, and wise. 

If plagues or earthquakes break not Heaven's design, 

Why then a Borgia or a Catiline ? 

Who knows but He whose hand the lightning forms, 

Who heaves old ocean, and who wings the storms, 

Pours fierce ambition in a Cesar's mind. 

Or turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind ? 

From pride, from pride, our very reasoning springs ; 

Account for moral as for natural things : 

Why charge we Heaven in those, in these acquit ? 

In both, to reason right is to submit. 

Better for us, perhaps, it might appear, 
Were there all harmony, all virtue * here ; 
That never air or ocean felt the wind; 
That never passion discomposed the mind. 



followed by a destructive tidal 
wave ("tempest"), the city of 
San lago was swallowed up by 
tlie earthquake ; the inundation 
overflowed the city of Concep- 
tion and reached Callao. 

147. some change, etc. The meaning 
is, some change, indeed, there 
has been since the beginning of 
all things. 

156. Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline? 
Caesar Borgia, a son of Pope 
Alexander VI., was a monster 
of wickedness. Among other 
crimes, he poisoned his father 



and assassinated his brother. 
He died in 1507. Catiline, the 
Roman conspirator against 
whom Cicero thundered, and 
whose history Sallust wrote. 
He died 62 B.C. 
159-160. CiBsar's . . . young Amnion. Cae- 
sar : that is, Julius Csesar. By 
"young Ammon" is meant 
Ale.xander the Great. Ammon 
was an Egyptian deity, to whose 
shrine, in the Libyan Desert, 
Alexander paid a visit, and was 
saluted by the priests as the 
son of their god. 



ESSAY ON MAN. 



159 



But all subsists by elemental strife ; 
And passions are the elements of life. 
The general order, since the whole began, 
Is kept in nature, and is kept in man. 

What would this man ? Now upward will he soar, 
And little less than angel, would be more ; 
Now looking downwards, just as grieved appears 
To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears. 
Made for his use all creatures if he call, 
Say what their use, had he the powers of all ? 
Nature to these, without profusion,* kind, 
The proper organs, proper powers assigned ; 
Each seeming want compensated of course, 
Here with degrees of swiftness, there of force ; 
All in exact proportion to the state ; 
Nothing to add, and nothing to abate. 
Each beast, each insect,* happy in its own : 
Is Heaven unkind to man, and man alone ? 
Shall he alone, whom rational we call, 
Be pleased with nothing if not blest with all ? 

The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find) 
Is not to act or think beyond mankind ; 
No powers of body or of soul to share 
But what his nature and his state can bear. 
Why has not man a microscopic * eye ? 
For this plain reason, man is not a fly. 
Say what the use, were finer optics given. 
To inspect a mite, not comprehend the heaven .'' 
Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, 
To smart and agonize at every pore ? 



1S5 



169. elemental strife = a strife of the el- 
ements. 

173. What would this man = what, then, 
does man desire ? 

176. To want, at lacking. 

183. state, condition of the animal. 

184. Nothing to add, etc. : that is, she 

left nothing to add, etc. 



196. To inspect a mite . . . heaven : that 
is, what were the use had man 
optics so fine that he could in- 
spect a mite, if at the same time 
he were unable to comprehend 
the heavens ? 

197-200. Or touch , . . pain? This pas- 
sage is very elliptical : the mean- 



i6o 



POPE. 



Or, quick effluvia* darting through the brain, 

Die of a rose in aromatic pain ? 

If nature thundered in his opening ears, 

And stunned him witli the music of tlie spheres. 

How would lie wish that Heaven had left him still 

The whispering zephyr * and the purling rill ! 

Who finds not Providence all good and wise, 

x^like in what it gives and what denies ? 

Far as creation's ample range extends. 
The scale of sensual,* mental powers ascends : 
Mark how it mounts, to man's imperial race. 
From the green myriads * in the peopled grass ; 
What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme. 
The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam ; 
Of smell, the headlong lioness between, 
And hound sagaciovis on the tainted green ; 
Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood 
To that which warbles through the vernal * wood ? 
The spider's touch, how exquisitely .fine ! 
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line ; 



ing is, supposing touch were 
tremblingly alive all over, what 
would it advantage us if we 
smarted and agonized at every 
pore ? or when quick effluvia 
darted through the brain, what 
should we gain by dying of a 
rose in aromatic pain ? 

199. effluvia, exhalations. 

202. music of the spheres. The Greek 
philosopher Pythagoras taught 
that the planets in their rota- 
tion gave forth sounds or notes, 
each emitting a note higher than 
that next, thus completing the 
entire octave. This was called 
the "music of the spheres." 

208. sensual = sensuous or material. 



212. The mole's dim curtain . . . beam. 

" The eyes [of the European 
mole] are two black glittering 
points, about the size of mus- 
tard seed, concealed and pro- 
tected by the surrounding skin 
and hair " \diin curtain]. — Ap- 
pletons'' Cyclopcedia. — " Beam" 
(literally a collection of rays 
emitted from any luminous 
body) has reference to the sup- 
posed wonderful power of sight 
possessed by the lynx. 

214. tainted green: that is, a field in 
which is the scent or odor of 
game. 

218. Feels. Supply it, meaning the 
spider. 



ESSAY OAT MAN. l6l 

In the nice bee, what sense so subtly* true 
From poisonous herbs extracts the heahng dew ? 
How instinct varies in tlie grovelling swine, 
Compared, half-reasoning elephant, with thine ! 
'Twixt that and reason, what a nice barrier — 
Forever separate, yet forever near ! 
Remembrance and reflection how allied ! 
What thin partitions sense from thought divide ! 
And middle natures, how they long to join, 
Yet never pass the insuperable * line ! 
Without this just gradation, could they be 
Subjected, these to those, or all to thee ? 
The powers of all subdued by thee alone. 
Is not thy reason all these powers in one ? 

See, through this air, this ocean and this earth, 
All matter quick, and bursting into birth. 
Above, how high progressive life may go ! 
Around, how wide ! how^ deep extend below ! 
Vast chain of being ! which from God began, 
Natures ethereal, human, angel, man. 
Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see. 
No glass can reach ; from infinite to thee. 
From thee to nothing. On superior powers 
Were we to press, inferior might on ours ; 
Or in the full creation leave a void, 
Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed : 
From Nature's chain whatever link you strike. 
Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. 

And, if each system in gradation roll 
Alike essential to the amazing whole, 
The least confusion but in one, not all 
That system only, but the whole must fall. ; 



; 19. nice bee. The word "nice" is 

here used in its subjective sense 

— fine-sensed, sensitive. 
!23. barrier — pronounce bar - year : 

the word was not completely 

naturalized in Pope's day, and \ 240. glass, microscope. 
II 



hence retained its French ac- 
cent. 

226. sense from thought divide : that is, 
sensation from reason. 

234. quick, alive. 



l62 



POPE. 



Let earth unbalanced from her orbit fly, 
Planets and suns run lawless through the sky ; 
Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurled, 
Being on being wrecked, and world on world • 
Heaven's whole foundations to their centre nod, 
And nature trembles to the throne of God. 
All this dread order break — for whom ? for thee ? 
Vile worm ! — O madness ! pride ! impiety ! 

What if the foot, ordained the dust to tread, 
Or hand, to toil, aspired to be the head ? 
What if the head, the eye, or ear repined 
To serve mere engines to the ruling mind ? 
Just as absurd * for any part to claim 
To be another in this general frame ; 
Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains 
The great directing Mind of all ordains. 

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body nature is, and God the soul ; 
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame, 
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, 
Lives through all life, extends through all extent, 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part. 
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart ; 
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns 
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : 
To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. 



265 



>5i-256.1et earth . . . God. The 
meaning here is, should earth 
fly unbalanced from its centre, 
then would planets and suns 
run lawless through the sky. 
So, also, if ruling angels should, 
etc., then heaven's whole foun- 
dations would nod to their cen- 



tre and nature would tremble, 
etc. 

262. to serve mere engines: that is, to 

serve as mere engines. 

263. Just as absurd: that is, to do so 

would be just as absurd, etc. 
269. That. The antecedent is " soul " 
— the soul of the universe, God. 



£SSAy ON man: 



163 



Cease, then, nor order imperfection name : 
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
Know thy own point : this kind, this due degree 
Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. 
Submit. In this or any other sphere, 285 

Secure* to be as blest as thou canst bear: 
Safe in the hand of one disposing power, 
Or in the natal or the mortal hour. 
All nature is but art, unknown to thee ; 

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see ; 290 

All discord, harmony not understood ; 
All partial evil, universal good. 
And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, 
One truth is clear — Whatever is, is right. 



286. Secure, confident. 



X. 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

1 706 -1 790. 





CHARACTERIZATION BY LORD JEFFREY.' 

I. In one point of view, the name of Franklin must be consid- 
ered as standing higher than any of the others wliich illustrated 
the eighteenth century. Distinguished as a statesman, he was 

' Rdiiib7tr<rh Review, vol. xxviii. 



JEFFREY'S CffARACTERIZATWA'. 165 

equally great as a philosopher, thus uniting in himself a rare de- 
gree of excellence in both those pursuits, to excel in either of 
which is deemed the highest praise. Nor was his pre-eminence 
in the one pursuit of that doubtful kind which derives its value 
from such an uncommon conjunction. His efforts in each were 
sufificient to have made him greatly famous had he done nothing 
in the other. We regard De Witt's mathematical tracts as a curi- 
osity, and even admire them when we reflect that their author 
was a distinguished patriot and a sufferer in the cause of his 
country. But Franklin would have been entitled to the glory of 
a first-rate discoverer in science — one who had largely extended 
the bounds of human knowledge — although he had not stood 
second to Washington alone in gaining for human liberty the 
most splendid and guiltless of its triumphs. It is hardly a less 
rare, certainly not a less glorious, felicity that, much as has been 
given to the world of this great man's works, each successive 
publication increases our esteem for his virtues, and our admira- 
tion of his understanding. 

2. The distinguishing feature of his understanding was great 
soundness and sagacity, combined with extraordinary quickness 
of penetration. He possessed also a strong and lively imagina- 
tion, which gave his speculations, as well as his conduct, a singu- 
larly original turn. The peculiar charm of his writings, and his 
great merit, also, in action, consisted in the clearness with which 
he saw his object, and the bold and steady pursuit of it by the 
surest and the shortest road. He never suffered himself in con- 
duct to be turned aside by the seductions of interest or vanity, 
or to be scared by hesitation and fear, or to be misled by the arts 
of his adversaries. Neither did he, in discussion, ever go out of 
his way in search of ornament, or stop short from dread of the 
consequences. He never could be caught, in short, acting ab- 
surdly or writing nonsensically. At all times, and in every 
thing he undertook, the vigor of an understanding at once origi- 
nal and practical was distinctly perceivable. 

3. But it must not be supposed that his writings are devoid of 
ornament or amusement. The latter especially abounds in al- 
most all he ever composed ; only nothing is sacrificed to them. 
On the contrary, they come most naturally into their places ; and 
they uniformly help on the purpose in hand, of which neither 



J 56 FRANKLIN. 

writer nor reader ever loses sight for an instant. Thus, his style 
has all the vigor, and even conciseness, of Swift, without any of 
his harshness. It is in no degree more flowery, yet both elegant 
and lively. The wit, or rather humor, which prevails in his works 
varies with the subject. Sometimes he is bitter and sarcastic ; 
oftener gay, and even droll, reminding us in this respect far more 
frequently of Addison than of Swift, as might be naturally ex- 
pected from his admirable temper or the happy turn of his im- 
agination. When he rises into vehemence or severity, it is only 
when his country or the rights of men are attacked, or when the 
sacred ties -of humanity are violated by unfeeling or insane 
rulers. 

4. There is nothing more delightful than the constancy with 
which those amiable feelings, those sound principles, those truly 
profound views of human affairs make their appearance at every 
opportunity, whether the immediate subject be speculative or 
practical, of a political or of a more general description. It is 
refreshing to find such a mind as Franklin's — worthy of a place 
near to Newton and to Washington — filled with those pure and 
exalted sentiments of concern for the happiness of mankind 
which the petty wits of our times amuse themselves with laugh- 
ing at, and their more cunning and calculating employers seek 
by every means to discourage, sometimes by ridicule, sometimes 
by invective, as truly incompatible with all plans of misgovern- 
ment. 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



[67 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

[Introduction. — The following extract is from Benjamin Franklin's Auto- 
biography, which, as he himself informs us in it, was written in his " seventy- 
ninth year ;" that is, in 1785, the year he returned from Paris, where he had 
lived for several years as American plenipotentiary, and where, in 1782, he 
signed the Treaty of Peace. This work, as first brought out in London, was 
garbled by his grandson, William Temple Franklin ; and it was not until a 
few years ago that an edition which follows the original with literal exactness 
was published, under the supervision of Mr. John Bigelow. In the extract 
here given this text is followed, with the single exception that the spelling is 
modernized.] 

I. I vv^as put to the grammar-school at eight years of age, my 
father intending to devote me, as the tithe of his sons, to the 
service of the church. My early readiness in learning to read 
(which must have been very early, as I do not remember when I 
could not read), and the opinion of all his friends that I should 
certainly make a good scholar, encouraged him in this purpose of 
his. My uncle Benjamin, too, approved of it, and proposed to 
give me all his short-hand volumes of sermons, I suppose as a 



Notes. — Line i. grammar-schooL This 
was, of course, the grammar- 
school of Boston, where Frank- 
lin was born. The institution 
of common schools in Massa- 
chusetts dates from 1647; that 
is, from the seventeenth year of 
the first founding of the colony. 
In the law establishing public 
schools is the following clause : 
" It is further ordered that when 
any town shall increase to the 
number of one hundred families 
or householders, they shall set 
up a grammar-school, the mas- 
ter thereof being able to instruct 
youth so far as they may be 
fitted for the university." — Pal- 
frey : History of New England, 



vol. ii., page 263.— eight years of 
age. This must have been in 
1 7 14, as Franklin was born in 
1706. 

the tithe. The " tithe " is the tenth 
part, and specifically the tenth 
part of the increase arising from 
the profits of land and stock, al- 
lotted to the clergy for their 
support. The Franklin family 
included seventeen children, of 
whom ten were sons. 

short-hand, etc. His "uncle Benja- 
min " had been in the habit of 
listening to the best preachers, 
both in the Old Country and in 
Boston, and taking down their 
discourses in a short-hand of 
his own invention. 



Literary Analysis.— 1-3 i. What is the distinguishing quality of Frank- 
lin's style ? (See Def. 49.)— Is there a single uncommon word in the first 
paragraph ? — Is there a single periodic sentence in this paragraph t 



1 68 



FRANKLIN. 



stock to set up with, if I would learn his character. I continued, 
however, at the grammar-school not quite one year, though in m 
that time I had risen gradually from the middle of the class of 
that year to be the head of it, and, farther, was removed into the 
next class above it, in order to go with that into the third at the 
end of the year. But my father, in the meantime, from a view 
of the expense of a college education, which, having so large a :5 
family, he could not well afford, and the mean living many so 
educated were afterwards able to obtain — reasons that he gave 
to his friends in my hearing — altered his first intention, took me 
from the grammar-school, and sent me to a school for writing and 
arithmetic, kept by a then famous man, Mr. George Brownell, 20 
very successful in his profession generally, and that by mild, en- 
couraging methods. Under him I acquired fair writing pretty 
soon, but I failed in the arithmetic, and made no progress in it. 
At ten years old I was taken home to assist my father in his 
business, which was that of a tallow-chandler and soap-boiler — a 25 
business he was not bred to, but had assumed on his arrival in 
New England, and on finding his dyeing trade would not main- 
tain his family, being in little request. Accordingly, I was em- 
ployed in cutting wick for the candles, filling the dipping-mould 
and the moulds for cast candles, attending the shop, going of 30 
errands, etc. 

2. I disliked the trade, and had a strong inclination for the 
sea, but my father declared against it. However, living near the 
water, I was much in and about it, learned early to swim well, 
and to manage boats ; and when in a boat or canoe with other 35 
boys, I was commonly allowed to govern, especially in any case 
of diificulty. And upon other occasions I was generally a leadei 
among the boys, and sometimes led them into scrapes, of which 



9. his character: that is, his method 

of short-hand. 
12. farther. More zoxx&ciX-j further. 



26, 27. firrival in New England. Fraiilv- 
lin's father emigrated from Old 
to New England in 1682. 



Literary Analysis.— 32, 33. inclination for the sea. 

of speech? (See Def. 29.) 



What is the fisfiire 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 169 

I will mention one instance, as it shows an early projecting pub- 
lic spirit, though not then justly conducted. 4° 

3. There was a salt marsh that bounded part of the mill-pond, 
on the edge of which, at high-water, we used to stand to fish for 
minnows.* By much trampling, we had made it a mere quag- 
mire.* My proposal was to build a wharf there fit for us to 
stand upon, and I showed my comrades a large heap of stones 45 
which were intended for a new house near the marsh, and which 
would very well suit our purpose. Accordingly, in the evening, 
when the workmen were gone, I assembled a number of my play- 
fellows, and working with them diligently like so many emmets, ' 
sometimes two or three to a stone, we brought them ell away, 5° 
and built our little wharf. The next morning the workmen were 
surprised at missing the stones, which were found in our wharf. 
Inquiry was made after the removers ; we were discovered, and 
complained of ; several of us were corrected by our fathers ; and, 
though I pleaded the usefulness of the work, mine convinced me ss 
that nothing was useful which was not honest. 

4. I think you may like to know something of his person and 
character. He had an excellent constitution of body, was of 
middle stature, but well set, and very strong. He was ingenious, 
could draw prettily, was skilled a little in music, and had a clear, 60 
pleasing voice ; so that when he played psalm tunes on his violin 
and sung withal, as he sometimes did in an evening after the 
business of the day was over, it was extremely agreeable to hear. 
He had a mechanical genius too, and, on occasion, was very 
handy in the use of other tradesmen's tools ; but his great excel- 65 
lence lay in a sound understanding and solid judgment in pru- 
dential matters, both in private and public affairs. In the latter, 



39. projecting, enterprising. 1 quiring the exercise of pru- 

66, 67. prudential matters = matters re- | dence or foresight. 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 39, 40. it . . . conducted. Substitute synonymous 
terms for the following italicized words : "It s/iows an early projecting public 
spirit, though not \\\&\\ justly conducted.'''' 

41-43. There was . . . minnows. Analyze this sentence. 

43, 44. minnows . . . quagmire. What is the derivation of " minnow ?" Of 
'■ quagmire ?" 

49. like so many emmets. What is the figure of speech .'' (See Def. 1ft.) 

62. sung. Modernize this form. 



lyo 



FRANKLIN. 



indeed, he was never employed, the numerous family he had to 
educate and the straitness of his circumstances keeping him 
close to his trade ; but I remember well his being frequently 7° 
visited by leading people, who consulted him for his opinion in 
affairs of the town or of the church he belonged to, and showed 
a good deal of respect for his judgment and advice. He was 
also much consulted by private persons about their affairs when 
any difficulty occurred, and frequently chosen an arbitrator be- 75 
tween contending parties. At his table he liked to have, as often 
as he could, some sensible friend or neighbor to converse with, 
and always took care to start some ingenious or useful topic for 
discourse, which might tend to improve the minds of his children. 
By this means he turned our attention to what was good, just, 80 
and prudent in the conduct of life ; and little or no notice was 
ever taken of what related to the victuals* on the table, whether 
it was well or ill dressed, in or out of season, of good or bad fla- 
vor, preferable or inferior to this or that other thing of the kind • 
so that I was brought up in such a perfect inattention to those 85 
matters as to be quite indifferent what kind of food was set be- 
fore me, and so unobservant of it that, to this day, if I am asked 
I can scarce tell, a few hours after dinner, what I dined upon. 
This has been a convenience to me in travelling, where my com- 
panions have been sometimes very unhappy for want of a suita- 90 
ble gratification of their more delicate, because better instructed, 
tastes and appetites. 

5. To return : I continued thus employed in my father's busi- 
ness for two years, that is, till I was twelve years old ; and my 
brother John, who was bred to that business, having left my 9s 
father, married, and set up for himself at Rhode Island, there 
was all appearance that I was destined to supply his place, and 
become a tallow-chandler. But my dislike to the trade continu- 



LiTERARY Analysis.— 72. the church he belonged to. Change this expres- 
sion into the modern literary form, by supplying the relative and transposing 
the preposition. Would this form be any better for the purposes of simple 
narration .-' 

83. it. What noun does " it " represent ? Is there any grammatical error 
here .'' 

85. a perfect inattention. Should we now use the article .'' 

96, 97- there was all appearance. Substitute a synonymous expression. 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



171 



ing, my father was under apprehensions that if he did not find 
one for me more agreeable, I should break away and get to sea, 100 
as his son Josiah had done, to his great vexation. He therefore 
sometimes took me to walk with him, and see joiners, bricklay- 
ers, turners, braziers, etc., at their work, that he might observe 
my inclination and endeavor to fix it on some trade or other on 
land. It has ever since been a pleasure to me to see good work- 105 
men handle their tools ; and it has been useful to me, having 
learned so much by it as to be able to do little jobs myself in 
my house when a workman could not readily be got, and to con- 
struct little machines for my experiments while the intention of 
making the experiment was fresh and warm in my mind. My no 
father at last fixed upon the cutler's trade, and my uncle Benja- 
min's son, Samuel, who was bred to that business in London, 
being about that time established in Boston, I was sent to be 
with him some time on liking. But his expectations of a fee 
with me displeasing my father, I was taken home again. ns 

6. From a child I was fond of reading, and all the little money 
that came into my hands was ever laid out in books. Pleased 
with the PilgrMs Progress, my first collection was of John Bun- 
yan's works, in separate little volumes. I afterwards sold them 
to enable me to buy R. Burton's Historical Collections ; they were 120 
small chapmen's books, and cheap, forty or fifty in all. My 
father's little library consisted chiefly of books in polemic divin- 
ity, most of which I read, and have since often regretted that, at 
a time when I had such a thirst for knowledge, more proper 



114. on liking: that is, on trial, at the 
pleasure of both parties. — a fee, 
a sum of money paid to a mas- 
ter when an apprentice is bound 
to him. 

120. R. Burton's Historical Collections. 
" Robert Burton " is a name 
which occurs in the title-page 
of a number of very popular 
historical and miscellaneous 



compilations, published (and 
supposed to have been written) 
by Nathaniel Crouch of Lon- 
don, from 1681 to 1736. The 
name must not be confounded 
with that of Robert Burton, the 
author of the famous Anatomy 
of Melancholy. 

121. chapmen, peddlers. 

122. polemic, controversial. 



Literary Analysis. — no. fresh and warm. 

■' warm " used literally or figuratively .' 



Are the words "fresh" and 



172 



FRANKLIN. 



books had not fallen in my way, since it was now resolved 1 125 
should not be a clergyman. PlutarMs Lives there was, in which 
I read abundantly, and I still think that time spent to great ad- 
vantage. There was also a book of De Foe's, called an Essay 
on Projects, and another of Dr. Mather's, called Essays to Do 
Good, which perhaps gave me a turn of thinking that had an in- 130 
fluence on some of the principal future events of my life. 

7. This bookish inclination at length determined my father to 
make me a printer, though he had already one son (James) of 
that profession. In 17 17 my brother James returned from Eng- 
land with a press and letters, to set up his business in Boston. 135 
I liked it much better than that of my father, but still had a han- 
kering for the sea. To prevent the apprehended effect of such 
an inclination, my father was impatient to have me bound to my 
brother. I stood out some time, but at last was persuaded, and 
signed the indentures when I was yet but twelve years old. 1 140 
was to serve as an apprentice till I was twenty-one years of 
age, only I was to be allowed journeyman's wages during the 
last year. In a little time I made great proficiency in the busi- 
ness, and became a useful hand to my brother. I now had ac- 
cess to better books. An acquaintance with the apprentices of 145 
booksellers enabled me sometimes to borrow a small one, which 



126. Plutarch's Lives. This famous 
work, styled by R. W. Emerson 
"the Bible of heroisms," was 
the production of Plutarch, a 
Greek biographer, who lived in 
the first century of the Christian 
era. 

128, 129. Essay on Projects. This is 
one of the numerous works of 
the author of Robinson Crusoe., 
and was published in 1697. 



129, 130. Essays to Do Good. This work 
is by Rev. Dr. Cotton Mather, 
a learned New England divine, 
and a voluminous author. He 
was born in Boston, 1663 ; died 
1728. 

135. letters: that is, a supply of print- 
ing type. 

140. Indentures, the written agreement 
or contract between master and 
apprentice. 



Literary Analysis. — 126. Plutarch's Lives there was. This is one of 
Franklin's few inversions of construction. Transpose into the direct order. 

132-150. This bookisli . . . wanted. Point out three or more colloquial words 
or expressions in paragraph 7. 

142. only. To what conjunction is "only" here equivalent.' 

144. hand. What is the figure of speech .' (See Def. 28.) 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



173 



I was careful to return soon and clean. Often I sat up in my 
room reading the greatest part of the night, when the book was 
borrowed in the evening and to be returned early in the morn- 
ing, lest it should be missed or wanted. 150 

8. x'ind after some time an ingenious tradesman, Mr. Matthew 
Adams, who had a pretty collection of books, and who frequented 
our printing-house, took notice of me, invited me to his library, 
and very kindly lent me such books as I chose to read. I now 
took a fancy to poetry, and made some little pieces. My brother, 155 
thinking it might turn to account, encouraged me, and put me on 
composing occasional ballads. One was called The Lighthouse 
Tragedy, and contained an account of the drowning of Captain 
Worthilake, with his two daughters ; the other was a sailor's 
song, on the taking of Teach (or Blackbeard), the pirate. They 160 
were wretched stuff, in the Grub Street ballad style ; and when 
they were printed he sent me about the town to sell them. The 
first sold wonderfully, the event being recent, having made a 
great noise. This flattered my vanity ; but my father discouraged 
me by ridiculing my performances, and telling me verse-makers 165 
were generally beggars. So I escaped being a poet, most prob- 
ably a very bad one ; but as prose-writing has been of great use 

to me in the course of my life, and was a principal means of my 
advancement, I shall tell you how, in such a situation, I acquired 
what little ability I have in that way. ... 170 

9. About this time I met with an odd volume of the Spectator. 



161. Grub street. A street in London 
(now called Milton- Street), 
"much inhabited [in the i8th 
century] by writers of small his- 



rary poems, whence any mean 
production is called g?'til)- 
street.'''' — Dr. Johnson. 
171. The Spectator. See page 129 of 



tories, dictionaries, and tempo- I this book. 



Literary Analysis. — 152. pretty collection. What is the force of "pret- 
ty " here ? 

156, 157. put me on composing. Modernize this expression. 

163, 164. made a great noise. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) 

171-208. Write out an abstract from memory of the method taken by Frank- 
lin to cultivate his powers of expression, enlarge his vocabulary, etc. (Para- 
graph 9.) 



174 



FRANKLIN. 



It was the third. I had never before seen any of them. I 
bought it, read it over and over, and was much delighted with 
it. I thought the writing excellent, and wished, if possible, 
to imitate it. With this view I took some of the papers, and, 17s 
making short hints of the sentiment in each sentence, laid them 
by a few days, and then, without looking at the book, tried to 
complete the papers again by expressing each hinted senti- 
ment at length, and as fully as it had been expressed before, 
in any suitable words that should come to hand. Then I com- iSo 
pared my Spectator with the original, discovered some of my 
faults, and corrected them. But I found I wanted a stock of 
words, or a readiness in recollecting and using them, which I 
thought I should have acquired before that time if I had gone 
on making verses ; since the continual occasion for words of 185 
the same import, but of different length, to suit the measure, 
or of different sound for the rhyme, would have laid me under 
a constant necessity of searching for variety, and also have 
tended to fix that variety in my mind, and make me master of 
it. Therefore I took some of the tales and turned them into 190 
verse, and, after a time, when I had pretty well forgotten the 
prose, turned them back again. I also sometimes jumbled my 
collections of hints into confusion, and after some weeks en- 
deavored to reduce them into the best order, before I began to 
form the full sentences and complete the paper. This was to 195 
teach me method in the arrangement of thoughts. By compar- 
ing my work afterwards with the original, I discovered many 
faults and amended them ; but I sometimes had the pleasure of 
fancying that, in certain particulars of small import, I had been 
lucky enough to improve the method or the language ; and this 200 
encouraged me to think I might possibly in time come to be a 
tolerable English writer, of which I was extremely ambitious. 
My time for these exercises and for reading was at night, after 
work, or before it began in the morning, or on Sundays, when I 
contrived to be in the printing-house alone, evading as much as 205 
I could the common attendance on public worship which my fa- 
ther used to exact of me when I was under his care, and which 
indeed I 'still thought a duty, though I could not, as it seemed 
to me, afford time to practise it. 

10. While I was intent on improving my language, I met with 210 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



175 



an English grammar (I think it was Greenwood's), at the end of 
which there was two little sketches of the arts of rhetoric and 
logic, the latter finishing with a dispute in the Socratic method ; 
and, soon after, I procured Xenophon's Memorable Things of 
Socrates, wherein are many instances of the same method. 1 215 
found this method safest for myself and very embarrassing to 
those against whom I used it ; therefore I took a delight in it, 
practised it continually, and grew very artful and expert in draw- 
ing people, even of superior knowledge, into concessions, the 
consequences of which they did not foresee, entangling them in 220 
difficulties out of which they could not extricate themselves, and 
so obtaining victories that neither myself nor my cause always 
deserved. . . . 

II. I continued this method some few years, but gradually left 
it, retaining only the habit of expressing myself in terms of mod- 225 
est diffidence ; never using, when I advanced anything that may 
possibly be disputed, the words certainly, undoubtedly, or any oth- 
ers that give the air of positiveness to an opinion ; but rather 
say, I conceive or apprehend a thing to be so and so ; it appears 



!il. Green-n-ood's. There w«j an Eng- 
lish grammar by James Green- 
wood, published in London in 
1711. 

!I3. Socratic method, the mode of argu- 
ing pursued by Socrates, the 
illustrious Greek philosopher 
(B.C. about 471-399). The 
method consisted in systematic 
cross-examination, Socrates as- 



suming the character of an ig- 
norant learner till he involved 
his opponent in contradictory 
answers. 
214. Xeiioplion, born about B.C. 444, 
was a distinguished soldier and 
in youth was a pupil of Socra- 
tes, whose sayings he recorded 
in the work usually called the 
Meniorabilia. 



Literary Analysis. — 212. there was two little sketches. Indicate the 
grammatical fault. 

215-223. Substitute synonymous terms for the italicized words in the follow- 
ing : I found this method safest for myself and very embarrassing to those 
against whom I used it ; therefore I took a delight \w it, practised it continually, 
and grew very artful and expert in drawing people, even oi superior knowledge, 
into cojicessions, the consequences of which they did not foresee, entangling them 
in difficulties out of which they could not extricate themselves, andso obtaining 
victories that neither myself nor my cause always deserved." — It may be ob- 
served that, perhaps influenced by his subject, Franklin in this sentence em- 
ploys, a for him unusual number of what may be called bookish words. 



176 



FRANKLIN. 



to me, ox, I should think it so or so, for such and such reasons ; or, 230 
I ijnagine it to be so ; or, // is so, if I am not mistaken. This habit, 
I believe, lias been of great advantage to me when I have had oc- 
casion to inculcate my opinions, and persuade men into measures 
that I have been from time to time engaged in promoting ; and, 
as the chief ends of conversation are to inform or to be informed, 235 
to please or to persuade, I wish well-meaning, sensible men would 
not lessen their power of doing good by a positive, assuming 
manner, that seldom fails to disgust, tends to create opposition, 
and to defeat every one of those purposes for which speech was 
given us — to wit, giving or receiving information or pleasure. For 240 
if you would inform, a positive and dogmatical manner in ad- 
vancing your sentiments may provoke contradiction, and prevent 
a candid attention. If you wish information and improvement 
from the knowledge of others, and yet at the same time express 
yourself as firmly fixed in your present opinions, modest, sensi- 245 
ble men, who do not love disputation, will probably leave you 
undisturbed in possession of your error. And by such a man- 
ner, you can seldom hope to recommend yourself in pleasing 
your hearers, or to persuade those whose concurrence you de- 
sire. Pope says, judiciously : 250 

" Men must be taught as if you taught them not, 
And things unknown proposed as things forgot ;" 

^ further recommending to us 

" To speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence." 

And he might have coupled with this line that which he has 255 
coupled with another, I think, less properly, 

" For want of modesty is want of sense." 

If you ask, why less properly ? I must repeat the lines — 

" Immodest words admit of no defence, 
For want of modesty is want of sense." 260 

Now, is not "want of sense " (where a man is so unfortunate as 



251, 252. Men . . . forgot. The lines 
are from Pope's Essay on Criti- 
cism. 

254. To speak . . . diffidence. This line 



is from the poem named in the 
previous note. 
259, 260. Immodest . . , sense. From 
the same poem. 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 177 

to want it) some apology for his " want of modesty ?" And 
would not the lines stand more justly thus ? 

" Immodest words admit but this defence, 
That want of modesty is want of sense." 265 

This, however, I submit to better judgments. 

12. My brother had, in 1720 or 1721, begun to print a news- 
paper. It was the second that appeared in America, and was 
called the New England Cotirant. The only one before it was 
the Boston News-Letter. I remember his being dissuaded by 270 
some of his friends from the undertaking, as not likely to suc- 
ceed, one newspaper being, in their judgment, enough for Amer- 
ica. At this time there are not less than five-and-twenty. He 
went on, however, with the undertaking, and after having worked 
in composing the types and printing off the sheets, I was em- 27s 
ployed to carry the papers through the streets to the customers. 

13. He had some ingenious men among his friends, who 
amused themselves by writing little pieces for this paper, which 
gained it credit and made it more in demand, and these gentle- 
men often visited us. Hearing their conversations, and their ac- 280 
counts of the approbation their papers were received with, I was 
excited to try my hand among them ; but, being still a boy, and 
suspecting that my brother would object to printing anything of 
mine in his paper if he knew it to be mine, I contrived to dis- 
guise my hand, and, writing an anonymous* paper, I put it in at 285 
night under the door of the printing-house. It was found in the 
morning, and communicated to his writing friends when they 



273. At this time . . . flTC-and-twenty. I At tJiis time probably as many 

Franklin was writing in 1785. I thousands. 



Literary Analysis. — 264, 265. What do you think of Franklin's improve- 
ment on Pope ? 

266. Point out the characteristic manner in which Franklin, in this line, ex- 
emplifies the precept as to " modest diffidence," laid down by him at the be- 
ginning of the paragraph. 

277-280. He had ... us. Rewrite this sentence in such a way as to bring 
the relative pronouns "who" and "which" nearer their antecedents. 

285. anonymous. Give the derivation of this word. 

12 



178 



FRANKLIN. 



called in as usual. They read it, commented on it in my hear- 
ing, and I had the exquisite pleasure of finding it met with their 
approbation, and that, in their different guesses at the author, 290 
none were named but men of some character among us for learn- 
ing and ingenuity. I suppose now that I was rather lucky in my 
judges, and that perhaps they were not really so very good ones 
as I then esteemed them. . . . 

14. I have been the more particular in this description of my 295 
journey, and shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you 
may in your mind compare such unlikely beginnings with the 
figure I have since made there. I was in my working dress, my 
best clothes being to come round by sea. I was dirty from my 
journey ; my pockets were stuffed out with shirts and stockings, 300 
and I knew no soul, nor where to look for lodging. I was fa- 
tigued with travelling, rowing, and want of rest ; I was very hun- 
gry, and my whole stock of cash consisted of a Dutch dollar, and 
about a shilling in copper. The latter I gave the people of the 
boat for my passage, who at first refused it on account of my row- 303 
ing ; but I insisted on their taking it. A man being sometimes 
more generous when he has but a little money than when he has 
plenty, perhaps through fear of being thought to have but little. 

15. Then I walked up the street, gazing about, till, near the 
market-house, I met a boy with bread. I had made many a meal 310 
on bread, and, inquiring where he got it, I went immediately to 
the baker's he directed me to, in Second Street, and asked for 
biscuit, intending such as we had in Boston ; but they, it seems, 
were not made in Philadelphia. Then I asked for a threepenny 
loaf, and was told they had none such. So, not considering or 31s 
knowing the difference of money, and the greater cheapness nor 
the names of his bread, I bade him give me threepenny-worth 
of any sort. He gave me, accordingly, three great puffy rolls. 

I was surprised at the quantity, but took it, and, having no room 



295, 296. my journey. His journey to | at the age of seventeen, having 

Philadelphia, whither he went j quarrelled with his brother. 



Literary Analysis. — 292 - 294. I suppose ... them. Analyze this sen- 
tence. 
295-298. I hare been . . . there. What kind of sentence is this rhetorically ? 



FROM FRANKLIN'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 



179 



in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and eat- 320 
ing the other. Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth 
Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father ; 
when she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as 
I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous appearance. Then 
I turned and went down Chestnut Street, and part of Walnut 325 
Street, eating my roll all the way, and, coming round, found my- 
self again at Market Street Wharf, near the boat I came in, to 
which I went for a draught of the river water ; and, being filled 
with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her 
child that came down the river in the boat with us, and were 330 
waiting to go farther. 

16. Thus refreshed, I walked again up the street, which by this 
time had many clean-dressed people in it, who were all walking 
the same way. I joined them, and thereby was led into the great 
meeting-house of the Quakers, near the market. I sat down 33s 
among them, and, after looking round awhile and hearing noth- 
ing said, being very drowsy through labor and want of rest the 
preceding night, I fell fast asleep, and continued so till the meet- 
ing broke up, when one was kind enough to rouse me. This was, 
therefore, the first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia. 340 



Literary Analysis. — 295-340. Write in your words an account of Frank- 
lin's first entry into Philadelphia, 



XI. 



SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

1 709-1 784. 




Juji^^kUtu. 






CHARACTERIZATION BY MACAULAY. 

I. [Through Boswell's Life,'] Johnson grown old, Johnson in the 
fulness of his fame and in the enjoyment of a competent fortune, 
is better known to us than any other man in history. Everything 
about him, his coat, his wig, his figure, his face, his scrofula, his 



MA CA ULA Y'S CHAR A CTERIZA TION OF JOHNSON. 1 8 1 

St. Vitus's dance, his rolling walk, his blinking eye, the outward 
signs which too clearly marked his approbation of his dinner, hi^ 
insatiable appetite for fish-sauce and veal-pie with plums, his in- 
extinguishable thirst for tea, his trick of touching the posts as he 
walked, his mysterious practice of treasuring up scraps of orange- 
peel, his morning slumbers, his midnight disputations, his contor- 
tions, his mutterings, his gruntings, his puffings, his vigorous, acute, 
and ready eloquence, his sarcastic wit, his vehemence, his inso- 
lence, his fits of tempestuous rage, his queer inmates, old Mr. 
Levett and blind Mrs. Williams, the cat Hodge and the negro 
Frank — all are familiar to us as the objects by which we have 
been surrounded from childhood. 

2. Johnson, as Mr. Burke most justly observed, appears far 
greater in Boswell's books than in his own. His conversation 
appears to have been quite equal to his writings in matter, and 
far superior to them in manner. When he talked, he clothed 
his wit and his sense in forcible and natural expressions. As 
soon as he took his pen in his hand to write for the public, his 
style became systematically vicious. All his books are written 
in a learned language ; in a language which nobody hears from 
his mother or his nurse ; in a language in which nobody ever 
quarrels, or drives bargains, or makes love ; in a language in 
which nobody ever thinks. 

3. It is clear that Johnson himself did not think in the dialect 
in which he wrote. The expressions which came first to his 
tongue were simple, energetic, and picturesque. When he wrote 
for publication, he did his sentences out of English into John- 
sonese. His letters from the Hebrides to Mrs. Thrale are the 
original of that work of which the journey to the Hebrides is 
the translation ; and it is amusing to compare the two versions. 
"When we were taken upstairs," says he, in one of his letters, 
" a dirty fellow bounced out of the bed on which one of us was 
to lie." This incident is recorded in the Journey as follows : 
" Out of one of the beds on which we were to repose, started up, 
at our entrance, a man black as a Cyclops from the forge." 
Sometimes Johnson translated aloud. " The Rehearsal,'' he 
said, very unjustly, " has not wit enough to keep it sweet ;" then, 
after a pause, " it has not vitality enough to preserve it from 
putrefaction." 



i82 JOHNSON. 

4. Mannerism is pardonable, and is sometimes even agreeable, 
when the manner, though vicious, is natural. Few readers, for 
example, would be willing to part with the mannerism of Milton 
or of Burke. But a mannerism which does not sit easy on the 
mannerist, which has been adopted on principle, and which 
can be sustained only by constant effort, is always offensive. 
And such is the mannerism of Johnson. 

5. The characteristic faults of his style are so familiar to all 
our readers, and have been so often burlesqued, that it is almost 
superfluous to point them out. It is well known that he made 
less use than any other eminent writer of those strong plain 
words, Anglo-Saxon or Norman-French, of which the roots lie in 
the inmost depths of our language ; and that he felt a vicious 
partiality for terms which, long after our own speech had been 
fixed, were borrowed from the Greek and Latin, and which there- 
fore, even when lawfully naturalized, must be considered as born 
aliens, not entitled to rank with the king's English. His con- 
stant practice of padding out a sentence with useless epithets, 
till it became as stiff as the bust of an exquisite ; his antithetical 
forms of expression, constantly employed even where there is no 
opposition in the ideas expressed ; his big words wasted on lit- 
tle things ; his harsh inversions, so widely different from those 
graceful and easy inversions which give variety, spirit, and sweet- 
ness to the expression of our great old writers — all these pecu- 
liarities have been imitated by his admirers and parodied by his 
assailants, till the public has become sick of the subject. 

6. Goldsmith said to him, very wittily and very justly, " If you 
were to write a fable about little fishes, doctor, you would make 
the little fishes talk like whales." No man surely ever had so 
little talent for personation as Johnson. Whether he wrote in 
the character of a disappointed legacy-hunter or an empty town 
fop, of a crazy virtuoso or a flippant coquette, he wrote in the 
same pompous and unbending style. His speech, like Sir Piercy 
Shaf ton's euphuistic eloquence, bewrayed him under every dis- 
guise. Euphelia and Rhodoclea talk as finely as Imlac the 
poet, or Seged, Emperor of Ethiopia. The gay Cornelia de- 
scribes her reception at the country-house of her relations in 
such terms as these : " I was surprised, after the civilities of my 
first reception, to find, instead of the leisure and tranquillity 



MA CA ULA Y'S CHAR A C TERIZA TION OF JOHNSON. 183 

which a rural Hfe always promises, and, if well conducted, might 
always afford, a confused wildness of care, and a tumultuous 
hurry of diligence, by which every face was clouded, and every 
motion agitated." The gentle Tranquilla informs us that she 
" had not passed the earlier part of life without the flattery of 
courtship and the joys of triumph ; but had danced the round 
of gayety amidst the murmurs of envy and the gratulations of 
applause, had been attended from pleasure to pleasure by the 
great, the sprightly, and the vain, and had seen her regard solic- 
ited by the obsequiousness of gallantry, the gayety of wit, and 
the timidity of love." Surely Sir John Falstaff himself did not 
wear his petticoats with a worse grace. The reader may well 
cry out, with honest Sir Hugh Evans, " I like not when a 'oman 
has a great peard : I spy a great peard under her muffler." 

7. As we close Boswell's book, the club-room is before us, and 
the table on which stands the omelet for Nugent, and the lemons 
for Johnson. There are assembled those heads which live for- 
ever on the canvas of Reynolds. There are the spectacles of 
Burke, and the tall, thin form of Langton;,the courtly sneer of 
Beauclerk, and the beaming smile of Garrick ; Gibbon tapping 
his snuffbox, and Sir Joshua with his trumpet in his ear. In the 
foreground is that strange figure which is as familiar to us as the 
figures of those among whom we have been brought up — the gi- 
gantic body, the huge massy face seamed with the scars of dis- 
ease, the brown coat, the black worsted stockings, the gray wig 
with the scorched foretop, the dirty hands, the nails bitten and 
pared to the quick. We see the eyes and mouth moving with 
convulsive twitches ; we see the heavy form rolling ; we hear it 
puffing ; and then comes the " Why, sir ?" and the " What then, 
sir ?" and the " No, sir !" and the " You don't see your way 
through the question, sir !" 

8. What a singular destiny has been that of this remarkable 
man ! To be regarded in his own age as a classic, and in ours 
as a companion ! To receive from his contemporaries that full 
homage which men of genius have in general received only from 
posterity ! To be more intimately known to posterity than oth- 
er men are known to their contemporaries ! That kind of fame 
which is commonly the most transient is, in his case, the most 
durable. The reputation of those writings which he probably 



i84 



JOHNSON. 



expected to be immortal is every day fading ; while those pecu- 
liarities of manner and that careless table-talk, the memory of 
which, he probably thought, would die with him, are likely to be 
remembered as long as the English language is spoken in any 
quarter of the globe. 



I._COWLEY AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 

[Introduction. — The following extract is from Johnson's Lives of the 
Poets, from which already two selections have been made — the Characteriza- 
tiojt of Shakespeare, page i, and the Parallel between Pope and Dry den, page 
147. "Much of Johnson's criticism," says Leslie Stephen, "is pretty nearly 
obsolete ; but the child of his old age — the Lives of the Poets — a book in which 
criticism and biography are combined, is an admirable performance in spite 
of serious defects. It is the work that best reflects his mind, and intelligent 
readers who have once made its acquaintance will be apt to turn it into a fa- 
miliar companion."] 

1. Cowley, like other poets who have written with narrow 
views, and, instead of tracing intellectual pleasures in the mind 
of man, paid their court to temporary prejudices, has been at one 
time too much praised, and too much neglected at another. 

2. Wit, like all other things subject by their nature to the 
choice of man, has its changes and fashions, and at different 
times takes different forms. About the beginnins: of the seven- 



NoTES. — Line i. Cowley. Abraham 
Cowley (1618-1667) was the 
most popular poet of his time ; 
however, he soon fell out of fa- 
vor (see line 4 above), as is 
shown by Pope's lines — 

'* Who now reads Cowley ? If he pleases yet, 
His moral pleases, not his pointed wit ; 
Forgot his epic, nay, Pindaric art ; 
But still 1 love the language of his heart." 



The "epic" and "Pindaric" 
art is in allusion to Cowley's 
two representative works — the 
Davideis, an epic poem on the 
life and troubles of David ; and 
Pindaric Odes, a collection re- 
plete with beauties and with 
blemishes. 
5. Wit, literary invention. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-4. Cowley . , . another. To what class, rhetorically, 
does the first sentence belong? — Point out two examples of antithesis in this 
sentence. 

5-10. AVit . . . account. In paragraph 2 which sentence is complex, and 
which compound ? 



COWLEY AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 185 

teenth century appeared a race of writers that may be termed the 
metaphysical poets, of whom, in a criticism on the works of Cow- 
ley, it is not improper to give some account. 10 

3. Tlie metaphysical poets were men of learning, and to show 
their learning was their whole endeavor ; but, unluckily resolv- 
ing to show it in rhyme, instead of writing poetry * they only 
wrote verses ; * and very often such verses as stood the trial of 
the finger better than of the ear ; for the modulation was so im- 15 
perfect that they were only found to be verses by counting the 
syllables. 

4. If the father of criticism has rightly denominated poetry 
afi imitative art, these writers will, without great wrong, lose their 
right to the name of poets, for they cannot be said to have im- 20 
itated anything : they neither copied nature from life, neither 
painted the forms of matter, nor represented the operations of 
intellect. 

5. Those, however, who deny them to be poets, allow them to 



the metaphysical poets. Besides 
Cowley, the two principal poets 
whom Johnson includes in this 
designation are Donne (1573- 
1631), the first and best of the 
school, and Crashaw (died about 
1650), whose " power and opu- 
lence of invention" are praised 
by Coleridge. The fitness of 
the term " metaphysical " as de- 
scriptive of these poets has been 



questioned, and perhaps the 
name, \\\q fantastic school (equiv- 
alent to the Italian school of 
the concetti), would be more ap- 
propriate. 
18. the father of criticism : that is, Aris- 
totle (B.C. 384-322), the famous 
Greek philosopher, who, in his 
Rhetoric and his Poetics, first 
laid down the canons of litera- 
ry criticism. 



Literary Analysis. — 11-17. The metaphysical. . . syllables. Point out an 
example of antithesis in this sentence. 

13, 14. poetry . . . verses. What is the distinction between "poetry" and 
" verses ?" (See Defs. 3, 4, 10.) — Give the derivation of each of these words. 

14, 15. stood the trial of the finger, etc. Explain this expression. 

16. ouly. Improve the position of this word by placing it nearer the adver- 
bial phrase which it modifies. 

20, 21. they cannot be said to have imitiited anything. What three particular 
statements are used to amplify and illustrate this general statement? — Note 
the felicitous use of three verbs nearly synonymous with "represented." 

24-27. Those . . . poetry. In this paragraph i^oint out two pairs of verbs 
contrasted in meaning. 



i86 



JOHNSON. 



be wits. Dryden confesses of himself and his contemporaries 25 
that they fall below Donne in wit, but maintains that they sur- 
pass him in poetry. 

6. If wit be M^ell described by Pope as being " that which has 
been often thought, but was never before so well expressed," 
they certainly never attained, nor ever sought it ; for they en- 30 
deavored to be singular in their thoughts, and were careless of 
their diction. But Pope's account of wit is undoubtedly erro- 
neous ; he depresses it below its natural dignity, and reduces it 
from strength of thought to happiness of language. 

7. If by a more noble and more adequate conception that be 35 
considered as wit which is at once natural and new, that which, 
though not obvious, is, upon its first production, acknowledged 
to be just ; if it be that which he that never found it wonders 
how he missed, to wit of this kind the metaphysical poets have 
seldom risen. Their thoughts are often new, but seldom natural; 4° 
they are not obvious, but neither are they just ; and the reader, 
far from wondering that he missed them, wonders more frequently 
by what perverseness of industry they were ever found. 

8. But wit, abstracted from its effects upon the hearer, may be 
more vigorously and philosophically considered as a kind of dis- 45 
cordia concors — a combination of dissimilar images, or discovery 
of occult resemblances in things apparently unlike. Of wit, thus 



28, 29. Pope . . . expressed. The exact 
words of Pope are in the follow- 
ing couplet from his Essay on 
Criticism : 



" True wit is nature to advantage dressed, 
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed.'' 

45, 46. discordia concors, literally a har- 
monious discord, or variance. 



Literary Analysis.— 28-32. If wit. . . diction. What kind of sentence is 
this, grammatically and rhetorically? 

34. hiippiuess of language. Give an equivalent expression. 

35-40. If . . . risen. What kind of sentence is this grammatically and rhe- 
torically. 

40-43. Tlieir thoughts . . . found. In this balanced sentence point out the 
corresponding or contrasting parts. 



COWLEY AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 



187 



defined, they have more than enough. The most heterogeneous 
ideas are yoked by violence together ; nature and art are ran- 
sacked for illustrations, comparisons, and allusions ; their learn- 50 
ing instructs, and their subtlety surprises ; but the reader com- 
monly thinks his improvement dearly bought, and, though he 
sometimes admires, is seldom pleased. 

9. From this account of their compositions, it will be readily 
inferred that they were not successful in representing or moving 55 
the affections. As they were wholly employed in something un- 
expected and surprising, they had no regard to that uniformity 
of sentiment which enables us to conceive and to excite the 
pains and the pleasure of other minds. They never inquired 
what, on any occasion, they should have said or done, but wrote 60 
rather as beholders than partakers of human nature ; as beings 
looking, upon good and evil, impassive and at leisure ; as Epi- 
curean deities, making remarks on the actions of men and the 
vicissitudes of life, without interest and without emotion. Their 
courtship was void of fondness, and their lamentation of sorrow. 65 



62, 63. Epicurean deities. According 
to the doctrine of the Greek 
philosopher Epicu'rus (B.C. 
342-270), the " gods live in eter- 



nal bliss, that is to say, in abso- 
lute inactivity, in the quiet en- 
joyment of sublime wisdom and 
virtue." 



Literary Analysis. — 48, 49. The most heterogeneons ideas, etc. A single 
illustration may serve to show the justice of Johnson's criticism on the strained 
conceits of the metaphysical poets. Donne has to describe a broken heart : 
he enters a room where his sweetheart is present — 

" Love alas! 
At one first blow did shiver it [the heart] as glass." 

This image he then proceeds to amplify thus : 

" Yet nothing can to nothing fall, 
Nor any place be empty quite ; 
Therefore I think my breast hath all 
Those pieces still, though they do not unite. 
And now, as broken glasses show 
A hundred faces, so 

My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, 
But after one such love, can love no more." 

57-59. that uniformity of sentiment, etc. Compare this periphrastic elabora- 
tion with the powerful simplicity of Shakespeare's thought — 
" One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." 



1 88 JOHNSON: 

Their wish was only to say what they hoped had been never said 
before. 

10. Nor was the sublime more within their reach than the 
pathetic ; for they never attempted that comprehension and ex- 
panse of thought which at once fills the whole mind, and of which 7° 
the first effect is sudden astonishment, and the second rational 
admiration. Sublimity* is produced by aggregation, and little- 
ness by dispersion. Great thoughts are always general, and con- 
sist in positions not limited by exceptions, and in descriptions 
not descending to minuteness. It is with great propriety that is 
subtlety,* which in its original iinport means exility * of particles, 
is taken in its metaphorical meaning for nicety of distinction. 
Those writers who lay on the watch for novelty could have little 
hope of greatness ; for great things cannot have escaped former 
observation. Their attempts were always analytic ; they broke so 
every image into fragments ; and could no more represent, by 
their slender conceits * and labored particularities, the prospects 
of nature or the scenes of life than he who dissects a sunbeam 
with a prism can exhibit the wide effulgence of a summer noon. 

11. What they wanted, however, of the sublime, they endeav-8s 
ored to supply by hyperbole : their amplification had no limits ; 
they left not only reason, but fancy, behind them ; and produced 
combinations of confused magnificence that not only could not 
be credited, but could not be imagined. 



76. exility, thinness, fineness. | 86. hyperbole. See Def. 34. 

82. conceits, fancies. | 87. fancy, imagination. 



Literary Analysis. — 68-84. jVor was noon. How many sentences in 

this paragraph ? State the class of each sentence grammatically and rhetori- 
cally. Select one which is an example of a short balanced (antithetical) com- 
pound sentence. — The attention of the pupil is called to this finely expressed 
paragraph.' Notice the variety of sentences — variety as to type (complex or 
compound, loose sentence or period) and as to length — and observe how the 
passage is rounded with a sentence noble in its elocution and splendid in its 
imagery. 

85-89. What . . . imagined. Rewrite the sentence, substituting equivalents 
for the italicized words : " What -they wanted, however, of the sublime, they f«- 
deavored X.O supply by hype^'bole : their amplification had no limits; they left 
not only reason, but fancy, behind them ; and produced combinations oiconftised 
magnificence that not only could not be credited, but could not be imagined." 



COWLEY AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES. 



189 



12. Yet great labor, directed by great abilities, is never wholly 90 
lost : if they frequently threw away their wit upon false conceits, 
they likewise sometimes struck out unexpected truth ; if their 
conceits were far-fetched, they were often worth the carriage. 
To write on their plan, it was at least necessary to read and 
think. No man could be born a metaphysical poet, nor assume 9S 
the dignity of a writer, by descriptions copied from descriptions, 
by imitations borrowed from imitations, by traditional imagery 
and hereditary similes, by readiness of rhyme and volubility* of 
syllables. 

13. In perusing the works of this race of authors,* the mind 100 
is exercised either by recollection or inquiry ; either something 
already learned is to be retrieved, or something new is to be ex- 
amined. If their greatness seldom elevates, their acuteness often 
surprises ; if the imagination is not always gratified, at least the 
powers of reflection and comparison are employed ; ^nd in the 105 
mass of materials which ingenious absurdity* has thrown to- 
gether, genuine wit and useful knowledge may be sometimes 
found buried perhaps in grossness of expression, but useful to 
those who know their value ; and such as, when they are expand- 
ed to perspicuity* and polished to elegance, may give lustre to no 
works which have more propriety though less copiousness of sen- 
timent. 



93. worth the carriage: that is, worth 
the bringing from afar, whence 
they were "fetched." 

98. hereditary similes : that is, similes 



that have come down from gen- 
eration to generation, and to 
which every successive poet is 
heir. 



Literary Analysis. — 95. bom a metaphysical poet. Contrast this with 
Horace's dictum, " The poet is born, not made " {Poeta nascitiir, notifii). What 
conclusion may be drawn as to metaphysical poets being poets at all ? 

loo-iio. Give the derivation of the following words: "author" (100); "ab- 
surdity" (106) ; "perspicuity" (no). 



igo JOHNSON. 



II. — DR. JOHNSON'S LETTER TO THE EARL OF CHESTER- 
FIELD. 

[Introduction. — In explanation of Dr. Johnson's Letter to Lord Chester- 
field, the following circumstances may be stated. In 1747 Johnson had put 
forth a prospectus for an English Dictionary, addressed, at the suggestion of 
the publisher Dodsley, to Lord Chesterfield, " then Secretary of State, and the 
great contemporary Maecenas." Johnson's language implies that his lordship 
and himself had been, to some extent, in personal communication concerning 
the project, but that Johnson was rebuffed. In the meantime, the work on the 
Dictionary had gone on for seven years, and in 1755 it was published. Just 
before publication Lord Chesterfield took occasion to write two articles in the 
London World, in which, with various courtly compliments, he described Dr. 
Johnson's fitness for the task of preparing a Dictionary — the object being to 
secure the dedication of the work to himself. Johnson readily saw through 
the manoeuvre, and bestowed upon the noble earl a piece of his mind in the 
celebrated letter which was, as Carlyle calls it, "the far-famed blast of doom 
proclaiming into the ear of Lord Chesterfield, and, through him, of the listen- 
ing world, that patronage should be no more."] 

My Lord, — I have lately been informed by the proprietor of 
The World that two papers in which my Dictionary is recom- 
mended to the public were written by your lordship. To be so 
distinguished is an honor which, being very little accustomed to 
favors from the great, I know not well how to receive, or in what 5 
terms to acknowledge. 

When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited your 
lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the en- 
chantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish that I 
might boast myself k vainqiieiir du vainqueiir de la terre^ — that lo 
I might obtain that regard for which I saw the world contend- 
ing ; but I found my attendance so little encouraged that neither 
pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When once I 
had addressed your lordship in public, I had exhausted all the 
art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly scholar can possess. 15 
I had done all that I could ; and no man is well pleased to have 
his all neglected, be it ever so little. 

Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I waited in your 
outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door ; during which 
time I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of 20 

' The conqueror of the conqueror of the world. 



VANITY OF MILITARY AMBITION. 



191 



which it is useless to complain, and have brought it, at last, to the 
verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of 
encouragement, or one smile of favor. Such treatment I did not 
expect, for I never had a patron before. 

The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with Love, and 25 
found him a native of the rocks. 

Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern on a 
man struggling for life in the water, and, when he has reached 
the ground, encumbers him with help ? The notice which you 
have been pleased to take of my labors, had it been early, had 30 
been kind ; but it has been delayed till I am indifferent, and 
cannot enjoy it ; till I am solitary,' and cannot impart it ; till I 
am known, and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical as- 
perity, not to confess obligations when no benefit has been re- 
ceived, or to be unwilling that the public should consider me as ss 
owing that to a patron which Providence has enabled me to do 
for myself. 

Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation 
to any favorer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though I 
should conclude it, if less be possible, with less ; for I have long 4° 
been wakened from that dream of hope in which I once boasted 
myself with so much exultation, my lord, 

Your lordship's most humble, most obedient servant, 

Samuel Johnson. 



III.— VANITY OF MILITARY AMBITION." 

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride. 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide : 



Notes.— 2. Swedish Charles. Charles 
XII. of Sweden (born 1682, 
killed at the siege of Frede- 
rickshall, Norway, 1718) suc- 
ceeded to the throne in 1697, at 



the age of fifteen. There is a 
well-known popular history of 
Charles XII. from the pen of 
the celebrated French writer 
Voltaire. 



' Dr. Johnson's wife, to whom he was passionately devoted, had died two 
years before, in 1752. 

^ From Dr. Johnson's fine poem entitled The Vanity of Human Wishes. 



192 



JOHNSON. 



A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 

No dangers fright liim, and no labors tire ; 

O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, 

Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain ; 

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield — 

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field. 

Behold surrounding kings their powers combine. 

And one capitulate, and one resign. 

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain ; 

"Think nothing gained," he cries, " till naught remain, 

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly. 

And all be mine beneath the polar sky." 

The march begins in military state, 

And nations on his eye suspended wait; 

Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, 

And Winter barricades the realms of Frost. 

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay; 

Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day : 

The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands. 

And shows his miseries in distant lands; 

Condemned a needy suppliant to wait, 

While ladies interpose and slaves debate. 



3. A frame of adamant, a soul of fire. 

Voltaire speaks of " that body 
of iron (corps de fer) controlled 
by a soul so bold and unshak- 
able." 

9. surrounding kings. Charles IV. of 
Denmark, Augustus II. of Po- 
land, and Peter the Great of 
Russia. 

[O. one capitulate : namely, the King of 
Denmark, in 1700. — one resign: 
namely, the King of Poland. 
On Moscow's walls. It is recorded 
that after Charles XII. had be- 
gun his invasion, the Czar at- 
tempted to negotiate ; but the 
former replied, " I will treat 
with the Czar at Moscow." — 
Gothic : that is, Swedish. 



13 



20. Pultowa's day: that is, the battle 
of Pultovva (July 8, 1709), where 
Charles's advance on the city 
of Moscow was checked by the 
arrival of the Czar Peter with 
70,000 men. Charles suffered a 
signal defeat, and fled to Ben- 
der, in Turkey. 

23i 24. Condemned . . . debate. Charles 
was hospitably entertained by 
the Sultan after his flight into 
Turkey, and soon began to 
dream of enlisting tlrat power in 
his designs against Russia. In 
these efforts he sought by bribes 
to win to his side the ladies of 
the seraglio and successive viz- 
iers ("slaves"); but the Czar 
had more gold than he. 



VANITY OF MILITARY AMBITION. 

But did not Chance at length her error mend ? 
Did no subverted empire mark his end ? 
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound ? 
Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? 
His fall was destined to a barren strand, 
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand. 
He left the name at which the world grew pale. 
To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 



193 



25. Chance, Fortune. 

29. barren strand, Norway. 

30. petty fortress, Frederickshall. — a 

dubious hand, in allusion to 



the question whether the bullet 
which struck him came from 
the enemy or from his own 
camp. 



XII. 

THOMAS GRAY. 

1716-1771. 





^. 



r?^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY MACKINTOSH.' • 

I. Gray was a poet of a far higher order than Goldsmith, and 
of an ahnost opposite kind of merit. Of all English poets, he 
was the most finished artist. He attained the highest kind of 

' From Miscellaneous Essays by Sir James Mackintosh. 



MACKINTOSH'S CHARACTERIZATION OF GRAY. 



195 



splendor of which poetical style seems capable. If Virgil and 
his scholar Racine may be allowed to have united somewhat 
more ease with their elegance, no other poet approaches Gray 
in this kind of excellence. The degree of poetical invention dif- 
fused over such a style, the balance of taste and of fancy neces- 
sary to produce it, and the art with which the offensive boldness 
of imagery is polished away are not, indeed, always perceptible 
to the common reader, nor do they convey to any mind the 
same species of gratification which is felt from the perusal of 
those poems which seem to be the unpremeditated effusions of 
enthusiasm. But to the eye of the critic, and more especially to 
the artist, they afford a new kind of pleasure, not incompatible 
with a distinct perception of the art employed, and somewhat 
similar to the grand emotions excited by the reflection on the 
skill and toil exerted in the construction of a magnificent palace. 
They can only be classed among the secondary pleasures of po- 
etry, but they never can exist without a great degree of its high- 
er excellencies. 

2. Almost all Gray's poetr}'- was lyrical — that species which, 
issuing from the mind in the highest state of excitement, requires 
an intensity of feeling which, for a long composition, the genius 
of no poet could support. Those who complained of its brevity 
and rapidity, only confessed their own inability to follow the 
movements of poetical inspiration.* Of the two grand attributes 
of the ode, Dryden had displayed the enthusiasm. Gray exhibited 
the magnificence. He is also the only modern English writer 
whose Latin verses deserve general notice, but we must lament 
that such difficult trifles had diverted his genius from its natural 
objects. In his Letters he has shown the descriptive powers of 
a poet, and in new combinations of generally familiar words, 
which he seems to have caught from Madame de Sevigne 
(though it must be said he was somewhat quaint), he was emi- 
nently happy. It may be added that he deserves the compara- 
tively trifling praise of having been the most learned poet since 
Milton. 



196 



G/?AV. 



I.— ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 

[Introduction. — This famous poem was begun by Gray in 1 742, finished 
in 1750, and first printed in 1751. It has been pronounced "tire most widely 
known poem in our language" — a popularity to be sought in the fact that "it 
expresses in an exquisite manner feelings and thoughts that are universal," 
and are therefore intelligible to all. Though not wholly free from faults, the 
E/egy is, on the whole, to use Gray's felicitous phrase, " a gem of purest ray 
serene."] 

1 . The curfew * tolls the knell of parting day, 

The lowmg herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

2. Now fades the glimmering landscape* on the sight, 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 



Notes. — Line i. cui-few. See note on 1 of this book. — parting:, depart- 

// Penseroso, page 59, Note 65, | ing. 



Literary Analysis. — Define Elegy. (See Def. 10.) — How many lines 
does each stanza contain ? — What of the prosody of the poem ? Ans. Each 
quatrain consists of four lines of iambic pentameter, rhyming alternately. De- 
fine iambic pentameter. (See Swinton's New School Composition, page 90, 
III. and note.) 

1-4. The curfew ... me. What kind of sentence grammatically? — This 
stanza contains only two words not of Anglo-Saxon origin : which are these 
words? — What word in this stanza belongs to the diction of poetry? — State 
the derivation of "curfew." — Which line in this stanza contains two examples 
of alliteration ? 

I. Tolls the knell. What figure of speech is this? (See Def. 20.) — Change 
into a simile. (See Def. 20, ii.) 

3. The ploughman . . . way. A critic points out that this line is quite peculiar 
in its possible transformations, and adds that he has made " twenty different 
versions preserviiig the rhythm, the general sentiment, and the rhyming word.'''' 
Let pupils try how many of these variations they can make. 

5-8. Now . . . folds. In this stanza what epithets are applied to " landscape ?" 
"stillness?" "flight?" "tinkling?" "fold?" Rewrite this stanza, omitting 
the epithets designated. — Are meaning and metre still preserved ? — What is 
lacking? — Gray has been accused of going to excess in the use of epithets. 

6. air. Is this word subject or object i" — Transpose into the prose order. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 

3. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,* 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade. 

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap. 
Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet* sleep. 

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. 
The cock's shrill clarion,* or the echoing horn. 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
No children * run to lisp their sire's return. 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 



197 



12. reign. The word is here used in 
the sense not of ritle, but of 
realm. 

16. rude, rustic, unpolished. 



20. their lowly bed, not the grave, as 
m^y have supposed, but the 
bed on which, during their life, 
they were wont to lie. 



Literary Analysis. — g-12. Save. . . reign. Is this stanza a principal or a 
subordinate proposition .'' — Save. What part of speech here ? What originally ? 
(See Glossary.) 

1 1, as. What part of speech here ? 

13-16. Beneath ... sleep. What kind of sentence rhetorically? — Change 
into the direct order. 

15, 16. Each. . . sleep. With what noun is "each" in apposition? — What 
adjective phrase modifies " each ?" — What is the figure of speech in this pas- 
sage ? (See Def. 20.) — Express the thought in prose diction. 

19. clarion. Literal or metajDhorical ? 

20. No moi-e shall rouse, etc. What noun forms the compound grammatical 
subject of" shall rouse ?" — What thought in the previous stanza does this sen- 
tence carry out ? 

22. ply her evening care. What is the figure here ? (See Def. 20.) Change 
into a plain expression.' 

23. run to lisp. Compare with a passage in Burns's Cotter's Saturday Nig/tt, 
page 277, lines 21, 22 of this volume. 

23, 24. No children . . , share. In these lines point out two infinitives (of pur- 
pose) that are used adverbially. What does each modify? — In the word 
"children," how is the plural formed? (See Glossary.) 

' Hales remarks that " this is probably the kind of phrase that caused 



GRA Y. 

7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe * has broke ; 
How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

8. Let not Ambition * mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile. 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 

9. The boast of heraldry,* the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Awaits alike the inevitable hour. 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 



26. furrow, used metaphorically for plough. — glebe, groimd. 



Literary Analysis. — 25-28. Oft . . . stroke. Change this stanza into equiv- 
alent sentences, using your own words. 

26. broke. State the correct prose form, and account for Gray's using 
"broke." 

29, 31. Ambition . . . Grandeur. " Ambition" is equivalent to the ambitious 
(figure synecdoche). To what, in like manner, is " Grandeur " equivalent .'' 

31. smile. With what word is "smile" made to rhyme? Is it a perfect 
rhyme .'' 

33-36. The boast of heraldry ... to the graye. This solemnly impressive 
stanza is associated with a striking event in American history. On the night 
before the attack on Quebec, as the boats were silently descending the St. 
Lawrence, the gallant General Wolf "repeated in a low tone to the other 
officers in his boat those beautiful stanzas with which a country church-yard 
inspired the muse of Gray, and at the close of the recitation, ' Now, gentle- 
men, I would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec.'"' For 
himself, he was within a few hours to find fulfilment of that noble line — 

"The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 

36. but. What part of speech here? 

Wordsworth to pronounce the language of the Elegy unintelligible " — a judg- 
ment assuredly too censorious. Wordsworth, in the following direct manner, 
conveys the thought which Gray thus veils : 

" And she I cherished turned her wheel 
Beside an English fire." 

^ Lord Mahon's History of England. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH -YARD. 



199 



13 



14. 



Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 

Where, through the long-drawn aisle * and fretted* vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can Honor's voice provoke* the silent dust. 
Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed. 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 

Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene * 
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



39. fretted, ornamented with fretwork, 
or bands intersecting at right 
angles. — vault, arched roof. 

41. storied. See // Penseroso, page 63, 
line 1^0, note. 



43. proToke, to call forth, to rouse to 
activity — the etymological 
meaning of the word. (See 
Glossary.) 

51. rage, inspiration, enthusiasm. 



Literary Analysis. — 38. Memory ... no trophies raise. What combination 
of figures of speech here? (See Defs. 22, 20.) 

39, 40. Wliere, through . . . note of praise. Express this in plain language. 

41-44. Can storied. . . death? Analyze this stanza. What is the rhetorical 
effect gained here by the use of the interrogative form ? 

46-48. By what circumlocutions does Gray express some saint? Some 
mighty rider ? Some great poet ? 

47. Hands. Supply the ellipsis. 

49, 50. her ample page . . . unroll. How is this thought connected with the 
original meaning of the word volume? (See Glossary.) 

52. froze, etc. What is the figure ? (See Def. 20.) 

53. many a . . . purest ray serene. What is the position of the adjectives 
with reference to the noun t — Of whose word-order is this an imitation ? (See 
L Allegro, page 51, line 32, note.) 



) GRA Y. 

15. Some village Hampden that, with dauntless breast, 

The little tyrant of his fields withstood; 
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 

16. The applause of listening senates to command, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

17. Their lot forbade; nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ;- 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, 

18. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide. 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame. 
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 



57. Hampden. John Hampden (born 
1594; died 1647) — 3- cousin of 
the great Cromwell — was an 
English statesman and patriot. 
He was a strenuous opponent 
of Charles the First's illegal 
acts, and subsequently a leader 
in the civil war. 

60. Cromwell. Oliver Cromwell (born 



1599; died 1658) was the great 
leader in the English civil war, 
which resulted in the execution 
of Charles I. Cromwell be- 
came "lord protector" (virtual- 
ly king) of England in 1653. 

5. Their growing virtues = the growth 
of their virtues. 

'). conscious = consciousness of 



Literary Analysis. — 57-60. What form of the figure synecdoche is ex- 
emplified in the names "Hampden," "Milton," "Cromwell," as here used? 
(See Def. 28.) 

59. Some mute, etc. Do you believe it possible that there could be a " mute 
inglorious Milton.''" 

60. Some Cromwell guiltless, etc. How does Gray imply that he believed 
Cromwell guilty " of his country's blood ?" ^ 

65. forbade. What four Tionxi ph^-ases are the object of "forbade ?" 
66,68. In what respects did their lot "confine their crimes.'"' (See subse- 
quent lines.) 

^ The prejudice against Cromwell was exceedingly strong during the i8th 
century, and if is only in our own time that justice has been done to that 
heroic character. 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A CO UNTR V CHUR CH- YARD. 2 o i 

19. Far from the madding* crowd's ignoble strife 

Their sober wishes never learned to stray ; 
Along the cool sequestered vale of life 75 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

20. Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
With uncouth * rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 80 

21. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, 

The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews. 
That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 85 

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 



73. the madding crowd, the wild or fu- 
rious crowd. 

77. these bones : that is, the bones of 
these. 



85. who, to dumb, etc. : that is, " Who 
ever resigned this pleasing 
anxious being [life] as a prey to 
dumb forgetfulness ?" 



Literary Analysis. — 75, 76. Along' the cool . . • way. Express this thought 
in your own language. 

77-80. Substitute sentences with different but equivalent words. 

81, 84. Explain " unlettered muse ;" "rustic moralist." 

84. That teach. What is the antecedent of " that ?" Consequently, of what 
number is it? And what rule of syntax is violated in the use of the form 
" teach ?" 

85-88. For who . . . behind. What kind of sentence grammatically ? — With 
what verbal noun is "prey" in apposition? — What is the subject of "left?" 
Of "cast?" In what emphatic way does the poet convey the thought that 
"no one ever resigned this life of his with all pleasures and pains to be ut- 
terly ignored and forgotten ?" — Observe that the second question is a repe- 
tition or amplification of the first. 



GRA V. 



23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 
Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

24. For thee who, mindful of the unhonored dead, 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

" Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, 
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

26. "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech 

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 
His listless length at noontide would he stretch. 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 



95 



90. pious, filial. 

93. For thee who: that is, as for thee — 
namely, the poet himself. 



95. If chance = if perchance. 
103. His listless length : that is, his tired 
body. 



Literary Analysis. — 89-92. Observe that in this exquisite stanza the poet 
answers the question (twice repeated) in the previous stanza. — Which line is 
an amplification of 89 ? Which of 91 ? 

90. pious. Show that this word is here used in its original Latin sense. 
(See Glossary.) 

92. in our ashes . . , fires. Compare this fine expression with Chaucer's 
line — 

"Yet in our ashen cold is fire yreken." 

97-100. In this stanza there is but one word not of Anglo-Saxon origin : 
what is that word ? 

100. upland latvn. See V Allegro, line 84, page 53 of this volume. 

101-103. beech . . . stretch. Remark on the rhyme. 

104. brook that babbles by. What is the figure here ? (See Def 20.) 



ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 203 

27. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn. 

Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

28. " One morn I missed him on the 'customed hill. 

Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 
Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; 

29. " The next, with dirges due in sad array, 

Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. 
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH.* 

30. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown; 
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 

And Melancholy marked him for her own. ] 

31. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send; 
He gave to Misery all he had, a tear ; 

He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. 



107. wan, having a pale or sickly look. " church - way may be a cor 



III. Another: that is, another morn. 
114. church -way, the path leadin 



ruption of the old English word 
church-hay = church-yard." 
church -way or church -wari/; I 115. lay. The "lay" refers to the 
or, as has been suggested, I rhymed epitaph which follows. 



Literary Analysis. — 105. To what word is the adjective phrase "now 
smiling as in scorn " an adjunct ? 

109. One morn. Query as to the construction of " morn." 

115. (for thou canst read). What may be inferred as to the "hoary-headed 
swain's " ability to read ? 

117. rests. What is the subject of this verb? 

1x7-120. Give examples of personification in this stanza. 

119. Fair Science . . . birth. Express the thought in your own language. 

123. Misery. What is the figure of speech .'' — tear. With what is this word 
in apposition .'' 



2 04 



GRA Y. 



32. No farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



II.— THE PROGRESS OF POESY. 
A PINDARIC ODE. 

[Introduction. — The Progress of Poesy is called by Gray a " Pindaric 
Ode ;" that is, an ode after the manner of Pindar, the Greek lyric poet (born 
in Thebes about B.C. 520). It must be said, however, that though it may have 
the Pindaric form, it has little of the Pindaric fire. Still, the Ode is a beauti- 
ful and interesting composition : it shines everywhere, and in some passages 
rises to sublimity. It was first published in 1757. 

The Ode is written, not in uniform stanzas, but in uniform groups of stanzas, 
the nine stanzas forming three uniform groups. Thus the ist, 4th,and 7th 
stanzas are exactly intercorrespondent ; so the 2d, 5th, and 8th, and so the 
remaining three.] 

I. I. 
Awake, ^olian lyre, awake, 
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
From Helicon's harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy * progress take ; 



Notes. — l. iEolian lyre. Pindar styles 
his own poetry, with its musi- 
cal accompaniments, " ^olian 
song," " ^olian strings ;" so 
that Gray's expression is equiv- 
alent to lyre such as Pindar 
struck. " ^olian," pertaining 
to ^olia, a Greek colony in 
Asia Minor, where Greek lyric 
genius was first developed. 

1-12. Gray himself thus explains the 
"motive" of the first stanza: 
" The various sources of poet- 
ry, which gives life and lustre 
to all it touches, are here 



described ; its quiet, majestic 
progress enriching every sub- 
ject (otherwise dry and bar- 
ren) with a pomp of diction 
and luxuriant harmony of num- 
bers ; and its more rapid and 
irresistible course, when swol- 
len and hurried away by the 
conflict of tumultuous pas- 
sions." 

2. rapture: that is, poetic rapture. 

3. Helicon's . . . springs. In the moun- 

tain range of Helicon (in Boeo- 
tia) were two fountains sacred 
to the Muses. 



Literary Analysis. — 125, 126. What words in these lines are used an- 
tithetically .'' 



THE PROGRESS OF POESY. 



205 



The laughing flowers that round them blow 
Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
Now the rich stream of music winds along, 
Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 
Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign ; 
Now rolling down the steep amain. 
Headlong, impetuous, see it pour; 
The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. 

I. 2. 

O sovereign of the willing soul, 
Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs ! 
Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares 

And frantic passions hear thy soft control. 
On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 
Has curbed the fury of his car, 
And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command. 
Perching on the sceptred hand 
Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king 
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing ; 
Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie 
The terror of his beak and the lightnings of his eye. 

I. 3- 
Thee the voice, the dance, obey. 
Tempered * to thy warbled lay. 



9. Ce'res (Greek Demeter), one of the 
greater divinities, tlie protec- 
tress of agriculture and of all the 
fruits of the earth. 

10. amain, with force or strength. 

13-24. The motive of this stanza is 
thus explained by Gray : " Pow- 
er of harmony to calm the tur- 
bulent sallies of the soul. The 
thoughts are borrowed from the 
first Pythian of Pindar." 

15. shell, the lyre, in allusion to the 
myth that Mercury made the 



first lyre from the shell of a tor- 
toise. 

17. the Lord of War, Mars, believed to 
have his abiding - place in 
Thrace. 

21. the feathered king. The usual at- 
tributes of Jupiter (Zeus) are 
the sceptre, eagle, and thunder- 
bolt. 

25-41. The motive of this stanza is 
thus explained by Gray : " Pow- 
er of harmony to produce all the 
graces of motion in the body." 



2o6 



GffAV. 



O'er Idalia's velvet green 

The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 

On Cytherea's day ; 

With antic * Sport and blue-eyed Pleasures, 

Frisking light in frolic * measures, 

Now pursuing, now retreating, 

Now in circling troops they meet. 
To brisk notes in cadence "* beating. 

Glance their many-twinkling feet. 
Slow, melting strains their queen's approach declare ; 

Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay. 
With arms sublime, that float upon the air, 

In gliding state she wins her easy way. 
O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 
The bloom of young desire and purple light of love. 



11. I. 

Man's feeble race what ills await ! 
Labor, and penury, the racks of pain, 
Disease, and sorrow's weeping train. 

And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate ! 
The fond complaint, my song, disprove. 
And justify the laws of Jove. 
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse ? 
Night, and all her sickly dews. 
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry. 
He gives to range the dreary sky ; 



27. Idalia (for Idaliiiiti), a town in Cy- 
prus where Venus was wor- 
shipped. 

29. Cytherea, Venus. 

30. antic, fantastic. 

42-53. Gray says, in explanation of this 
stanza, " To compensate the 
real and imaginary ills of life, 



the Muse was given to man- 
kind by the same Providence 
that sends the day, by its cheer- 
ful presence, to dispel the gloom 
and terror of the night." 

46. fond, foolish. 

47. Jove == Jupiter. 

50. boding, foreshowing, presaging. 



THE PROGRESS OF POESY. 



207 



Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. 



II. 2. 

In climes beyond the solar road, 
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam. 
The Muse has broke the twilight * gloom 

To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. 
And oft, beneath the odorous * shade 
Of Chili's boundless forests laid, 
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, 
In loose numbers wildly sweet. 
Their feather-cinctured * chiefs and dusky loves. 
Her track, where'er the goddess roves. 
Glory pursue, and generous shame, 
The unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame. 

11. 3. 
Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep. 
Isles that crown the ^gean deep, 



53. Hyperion, the sun. The accent is, 

properly, on the penult (Hype- 
ri'on). Gray, with most of the 
poets, wrongly makes it on the 
antepenult. 
54-65. Gray says, in explanation of this 
stanza, " Extensive influence 
of poetic genius over the re- 
motest and most uncivilized na- 
tions : its connection with lib- 
erty and the virtues that natu- 
rally attend on it." 

54. solar road, the ecliptic. The ex- 

pression is here equivalent to 
the extreme north. Compare 
with an expression of Pope's in 



the Essay on Man, line 102, 
page 156, of this book. 

56. broke = broken. 

62. cinctured, girt. 

64. pursue. This use of the plural 
verb with the first of a series 
of subjects is an imitation of the 
Greek idiom. 

66-82. Gray says, in explanation of this 
stanza, " Progress of poetry 
from Greece to Italy, and from 
Italy to England." 

66. Delplii's steep is at the foot of the 
southern uplands of Mount Par- 
nassus, which ends in a pre- 
cipitous cliff. 



208 



GJ?AV. 



Fields that cool Ilissus laves, 

Or where Maeander's amber waves 
In lingering labyrinths * creep, 

How do your tuneful echoes languish, 

Mute but to the voice of anguish ! 
Where each old poetic mountain 

Inspiration breathed around ; 
Every shade and hallowed fountain 

Murmured deep a solemn sound. 
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, 

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power 

And coward Vice that revels in her chains. 
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost. 
They sought, O Albion ! * next thy sea-encircled coast. 

III. I. 

Far from the sun and summer gale, 
In thy green lap was nature's darling laid. 
What time, where lucid Avon strayed. 

To him the mighty mother did unveil 
Her awful face : the dauntless child 
Stretched forth his little arms and smiled. 
"This pencil take," she said, " whose colors clear 
Richly paint the vernal * year : 
Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy ! 
This can unlock the gates of joy ; 
Of horror that, and thrilling fears, 
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 



85 



68. Ilis'sus. This stream flows through 

the east side of Athens. 

69, 70. Maeander's • . . wayes . . . laby- 

rinths creep. On the banks of 
the river Maeander, in Asia Mi- 
nor, was the city of Miletus, one 
of the earliest seats of Hellenic 
culture. In its lower course 
this river flows through a wide 
plain, where it wanders in in- 



tricate turnings and windings. 
Hence our verb to meander. 

77. Nine, the nine Muses. 

78. Latian plains = plains of Latium, 

or Italy. 

82. Albion, England. 

84. nature's darling: that is, Shake- 
speare. Compare UAllegt-o, 
page 55, line 125, of this book. 

86. mighty mother, nature. 



THE PROGRESS OF POESY. 



209 



III. 2. 

Nor second he that rode sublime * 
Upon the seraph wings of ecstasy ^ 
The secrets of the abyss to spy. 

He passed the flaming bounds of place and time ; 
The Hving throne, the sapphire blaze, 
Where angels tremble while they gaze, 
He saw ; but, blasted with excess of light. 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 
Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous * car, 
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
Two coursers of ethereal * race. 
With necks in thunder clothed, and long resounding pace. 

HI. 3. 

Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! 

Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er. 
Scatters from her pictured urn 
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 

But, ah ! 'tis heard no more : 

O lyre divine, what daring spirit 

Wakes thee now .'' Though he inherit 



95. he : that is, Milton. Gray was a 
profound student, an enthusi- 
astic admirer, and a frequent 
imitator of Milton, and here 
pays a sublime tribute to the 
Puritan bard. 
99. The living throne, etc. See Eze- 
kiel i., 20, 26, 28. 

loi. blasted . . . llglit. Compare Mil- 
ton's expression {Paradise Lost. 
iii., 380) : " Dark with excessive 
bright thy skirts appear." 

103. Drjden. Gray "admired Dryden 
almost beyond bounds." He 
told Beattie that "if there was 
14 



any excellence in his own num- 
bers, he had learned it wholly 
from that great poet." 

105. Two coursers, meaning the heroic 
couplet (as in Absalom and 
Achiiophet), which in Dryden's 
hands acquired great vigor. 

107. his hiinds: that is, Dryden's. 

III. "We have had in our language 
no other ode of the sublime 
kind than that of Dryden on 
St. Cecilia's Day.'''' — Gray. 

113. Walies thee now: that is, in this 
poem. — he. Gray is here mod- 
estly referring to himself. 



GRA Y. 

Nor the pride nor ample pinion* 

That the Theban eagle bear, 
Sailing with supreme dominion 

Through the azure deep of air ; 
Yet oft before>his infant eyes would run 

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray 
With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun : 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, 
Beneath the good how far ! but far above the great. 



115. Theban eagle, Pindar. 
120. With orient hues. Compare Mil- 
ton [Paradise Lost, i., 546) : 



manuscript has, " Yet never can 
he fear a vulgar fate." The 
change is an improvement. 



"with orient colors waving." 123. the great, the merely worldly great, 
122. Beyond . . . fate. Gray's original I high in station. 



XIII. 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

1728-1774. 




^^^^^-^ ^^xr^^'^--'^^ 



THACKERAY'S TRIBUTE TO GOLDSMITH.' 

I. Who, of the millions whom Goldsmith has amused, doesn't 
love him ? To be the most beloved of English writers, what a 
title that is for a man ! A wild youth, wayward, but full of ten- 

' From Tliackeray's Humorists of the Eighteenth Century. 



2 12 . GOLDSMITH. 

derness and affection, quits the country village where his boy- 
hood has been passed in happy musing, in idle shelter, in fond 
longing to see the great world out-of-doors, and achieve name 
and fortune ; and after years of dire struggle, and neglect and 
poverty, his heart turning back as fondly to his native place as it 
had longed eagerly for change when sheltered there, he writes a 
book and a poem full of the recollections and feelings of home 
— he paints the friends and scenes of his youth, and peoples 
Auburn and Wakefield with remembrances of Lissoy. Wander 
he must, but he carries away a home-relic with him, and dies with 
it on his breast. 

2. His nature is truant; in repose it longs for change, as on 
the journey it looks back for friends and quiet. He passes to- 
day in building an air-castle for to-morrow, or in writing yester- 
day's elegy; and he would fly away this hour, but that a cage 
and necessity keep him. What is the charm of his verse, of his 
style, and humor ? His sweet regrets, his delicate compassion, 
his soft smile, his tremulous sympathy, the weakness which he 
owns ? Your love for him is half pity. You come hot and 
tired from the day's battle, and this sweet minstrel sings to 
you. 

3. Who could harm the kind vagrant harper ? Whom did he 
ever hurt ? He carries no weapon, save the harp on which he 
plays to you ; and with which he delights great and humble, 
young and old, the captains in the tents or the soldiers round 
the fire, or the women and children in the villages, at whose 
porches he stops and sings his simple songs of love and beauty. 
With that sweet story of The Vicar of Wakefield, he has found 
entry into every castle and every hamlet in Europe. Not one of 
us, however busy or hard, but once or twice in our lives has 
passed an evening with him, and undergone the charm of his de- 
lightful music. 

4. Think of him reckless, thriftless, vain if you like, but mer- 
ciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes out of 
our life, and goes to render his account beyond it. Think of the 
poor pensioners weeping at his grave ; think of the noble spirits 
that admired and deplored him; think of the righteous pen that 
wrote his epitaph, and of the wonderful and unanimous response 
of affection with which the world has paid back the love he gave 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. . 213 

it. His humor delights us still ; his song is fresh and beautiful 
as when first he charmed with it ; his words are in all our 
mouths ; his very weaknesses are beloved and familiar. His 
benevolent spirit seems still to smile upon us ; to do gentle 
kindnesses ; to succor with sweet charity ; to soothe, caress, and 
forgive ; to plead with the fortunate for the unhappy and the 
poor. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



[Introduction. — The Deserted Village was first published in 1770, and im- 
mediately became exceedingly popular. The work belongs to the class of di- 
dactic poems, the purpose being to set forth the evils of the luxury that pre- 
vailed in the England of Goldsmith's day. It has often been pointed out that 
the poet blundered in his political economy ; but it is of little moment to in- 
quire is he right or wrong — our interest being, not in the moral of the poem, 
but in its art; in its charming "interiors," in its fine bits of portraiture, and 
in the sweetness and grace that jDervade its melodious lines.] 

Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain; 
Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed : 
Dear lovely bowers'* of innocence and ease, 
Seats of my youth when every sport could please. 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 
Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 



Notes.— Line i. Sweet Auburn. There i raphy than the poet's own im- 

have been various claimants for j agination. 

the honor of being the village 1 2. swain. See Gray's Elegy, page 202. 
intended by Goldsmith, but it | 4. parting. See Gray's Elegy, page 
is doubtful whether " Auburn " J 202. 

ever existed in any other geog- j 5. bowers : poetice for dwellings. 



Literary Analysis. — What other poem, previously studied, does the De- 
serted Village resemble in versification .? 

X. Tillage. Grammatical construction of this word.? 

3, 4. Where smiling . . . delayed. Express the meaning of this couplet in your 
own language.— What figure of speech is there in this couplet ? (See Def. 22.) 



214 



GOLDSMITH. 



How often have I paused on every charm — 

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 

The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 

The decent* church that topped the neighboring hill, 

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 

For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 

How often have I blessed the coming day. 

When toil remitting lent its turn to play. 

And all the village train,* from labor free, 

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, 

While many a pastime circled in the shade, 

The young contending as the old surveyed ; 

And many a gambol * frolicked* o'er the ground. 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 

And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired : 

The dancing pair that simply sought renown 

By holding out to tire each other down; 

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 

The bashful virgin's side-long * looks of love. 

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these. 

With sweet succession, taught even toil to please ; 



lo. cot = cottage. 

12. decent, suitable, proper. 

1 6. remitting', being over. — lent its turn 

to, gave way to. 

17. villiige train: that is, the whole 

body of villagers drazvn along 
together to the sport. 



19. circled, went round. 

21. gambol frolicked, etc. : that is, many 

a sportive prank was played in 

a frolicsome manner. 
25. simply, in a simple manner, with 

simplicity. 
27. smutted, blackened, dirty. 



Literary Analysis. — 9-14. The abstract term "every charm" is ex- 
plained by a series oi particulars that give a concrete conception of what these 
charms were : enumerate these particulars. Could a picture be painted from 
the description ? 

14. talking age. What is the figure of speech? (See Def 29.) 

21. gambol frolicked. Give the derivation of these words. 

24. band. Is this word in the direct or poetic order .^ 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



215 



These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed ; 
These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green : 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day. 
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way : 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies. 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 
And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand. 
Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates and men decay : 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade, — 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made ; 
But a bold peasantry,* their country's pride. 
When once destroyed, can never be supplied. 



35. lawn. The word is here equiva- 
lent to "//flw" in line i. 

37. tyrant's hand: that is, the despot- 
ism of the great land-owners. 

39. One only = one sole. 

40. stints, deprives of beauty and luxu- 

riance. 
44. bittern, a wading bird of Europe, 
related to the herons : it stalks 



among reeds and sedges, feed- 
ing upon fish. Dryden calls the 
sound it makes bumping. See 
Isaiah xiv., 23 ; xxxiv., 11. 

49, 50. shrinking . . . land : that is, owing 
to the absorption of the land by 
great proprietors, the peasantry 
were forced to emigrate. 

52. decay, decrease in number. 



Literary Analysis. — 41-48. By what fine touches does Goldsmith con- 
vey a vivid idea of the utter desolation into which the village had fallen .^ 

51. 111. . . ills. Perhaps the use of "ill" (adverb) and "ills" (noun) in the 
same line may fairly be deemed infelicitous. A word should not be repeated 
in the same sentence, unless the repetition is artistic. 

51, 52. Ill . . . decay. Transpose this couplet into the prose order. 



2r6 GOLDSMITH. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground maintained its man ; 
For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 
Just gave what life required, but gave no more : 
His best companions, innocence and health, 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered ; trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ; 
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose. 
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, 
And every want to opulence allied. 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
These gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom. 
Those calm desires that asked but little room. 
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
Lived in each look, and brightened all the green ; 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 
Thy glades forlorn * confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds. 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train. 
Swells at my breast and turns the past to pain. 



58. rood, another form of rod. i 76. confess, show. 

63. trade's . . . train: that is, the peo- j 81. busy train: that is, all the things 
pie that trade brings with it. I that memory calls up. 

Literary Analysis. — 58. When . . . man. Explain this statement. 

59. light labor. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 22.) — her. Why 
"her?" 

62. And his . . . yvealth. Explain what is meant by saying that " ignorance 
of wealth was his best riches." 

64. Usurp. How do you justify the use of the plural number ? 

66. Unwieldy . . . repose. What is the figure of speech ? 

67, 68. vrant . . . pang. Of what verb, understood, are " want " and " pang " 
the subjects ? 

69. that plenty bade to bloom. Express this in plainer language. 
69-74. These gentle hours ... no more. Analyze this sentence. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 217 

In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting by repose. 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill. 
Around my fire an evening group to draw. 
And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; 
And, as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue. 
Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
Here to return — and die at home at last. 

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline. 
Retreats from care that never must be mine. 
How happy he who crowns in shades like these 
A youth of labor with an age of ease; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations try 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly I 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep, 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
No surly porter stands in guilty state, 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; 

100. an age = an old age. j that of itself betrays the crimi- 

105. ill guilty state: that is, in an atray | nal luxury of the proprietor. 



Literary Analysis. — 83-88. In all . . . repose. What kind of sentence is 

this rhetorically .'' 

85. my latest hours to crown. What kind of phrase, and modifying what .' 
87. To husband. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 20.) Change 

into plain language. 

92. And tell . . . saw. Analyze this sentence. 

93, 94. And, as an hare . . . flew. What is the figure of speech .? (See Def. 
19.) — Should we now say "«« hare.?" — Give an example of pleonasm in line 94. 

99. crowns. Is this verb used in a literal or in a metaphorical sense .' 

102. to combat ... to fly. To combat what ? — To fly from what .' 

103. For him. For whom .-' 

104. tempt the dangerous deep. Change into plain language. 

106. imploring famine. What is the figure of speech.'' (See Def. 28.) 



2l8 



GOLDSMITH. 



But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, 
While resignation gently slopes the way ■ 
And, all his prospects brightening to the last. 
His heaven commences ere the world be past ! 

Sweet was the sound when oft, at evening's close, 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 
There as I passed with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. 
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, 
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool. 
The playful children just let loose from school. 
The watch-dog's voice that bayed * the whispering wind. 
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, — 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 
And filled each pause the nightingale * had made. 
But now the sounds of population fail. 
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 



107. his latter end: that is, his death ; 

a Biblical expression. 
1 10. slopes, eases. 
115. careless, free from care. 

121. bayed, barked at. 

122. spoke, bespoke, indicated. 

123. sought the shade: that is, these 



various sounds were heard in 

the evening-tide. 
124. pause, a stop or intermission in 

the song of the nightingale. 
1 26.. fluctuate, float. — gale, not here 

used in its full meaning, but as 

equivalent to breeze, wind. 



Literary Analysis. — 113,114- Sweet ... rose. Transpose this couplet 
into the prose order. 

115. careless steps and slow. Remark on the position of the adjectives. 

117. The swain . . . sung. Change into plain language. — sung. Modernize. 

118. herd. Tell from the pronoun the number in which Goldsmith intends 
" herd" to be. Compare Gray's Elegy, page 196, line 2. 

119. Point out an instance of alliteration in this line. 

122. Observe the true touch in this line ; but does it mean that every "loud 
laugh " indicates a vacant mind i" — Give an Anglo-Saxon synonym of " va- 
cant." 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 

For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. 

All but yon widowed, solitary thing. 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 

She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, 

To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 

To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. 

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ; 

She only left of all the harmless train. 

The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

II. 

Near yonder copse,*' where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild ; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion * rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear. 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place ; 
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power. 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain : 



219 



128. bloomy = blooming. This form is ; seems to have been the average 

used by Milton and Dryden. salary of a curate in England 

130. plasliy, puddle-like. i during the i8th century. 

137. copse, underbrush. \ 144. place, position. 

142. passing, very. Forty pounds ■ 149. vagrant train, tramps. 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 129-136. Observe that the absence of life in the de- 
serted village is rendered the more impressive by this particular instance of 
the presence of life. In this description of the 

"widowed, solitary ihing," 
which do you think is the most picturesque circumstance mentioned .' 



GOLDSMITH. 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 

Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 

Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; 

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 155 

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 

Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done, 

Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. 

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow. 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 160 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 

His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
But in his duty prompt at every call, 165 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 17° 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid. 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed. 
The reverend champion stood. At his control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 175 

And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorned the venerable place : 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools who came to scoff remained to pray. 180 

The service past, around the pious man. 
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
Even children followed with endearing wile, 
And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed ; 185 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 



155. broken, retired from service, bro- 1 171. parting. See Gray's Elegy, -^2.%^ 

ken dozvti. \ 202, line 89. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form. 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way. 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay. 
There in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 
The village master taught his little school. 
A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper circling round 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught. 
The love he bore to learning was in fault; 
The village all declared how much he knew; 
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too ; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge : 
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill ; 
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ; 
While words of learned length and thundering sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 
That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But past is all his fame. The very spot 
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 
Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high. 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye. 



194. furze, an evergreen shrub. 

199. boding — foreboding. 

209. terms and tides presage. " 1 erms " 

and " tides " are liere equiva- 
lent to times and seasons. 



Tide literally means time. — 

presage, foretell. 
210. gauge, measure the capacity of 

vessels. 
219. thorn = thorn-tree. 



GOLDSMITH. 

Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, 
Where graybeard mirth and smiling toil retired, 
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound. 
And news much older than their ale went round. 
Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
The parlor splendor of that festive place : 
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor, 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; 
The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 
The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 
The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, 
With aspen boughs and flowers and fennel gay ; 
While broken teacups, wisely kept for show. 
Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 

Vain transitory splendors ! could not all 
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? 
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart. 
Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear ; 



221. that house, the inn. — nut-brown 
draughts = draughts of nut- 
brown ale. 

229. double debt to pay, to serve a 
double purpose. 

232. The tAvelve good rules. These 
rules were : i. Urge no healths 
[= health - drinkings]. 2. Pro- 
fane no divine ordinances. 3. 
Touch no state matters. 4. Re- 
veal no secrets. 5. Pick no 
quarrels. 6. Make no compar- 
isons. 7. Maintain no ill opin- 
ions. 8. Keep no bad compa- 



ny. 9. Encourage no vice. 10. 
Make no long meals. 11. Re- 
peat no grievances. 12. Lay no 
wagers. — the royal game of goose, 
the game of the fox and the 
geese. 

236. chimney, fireplace. See Milton's 
U Allegro, page 56, line 103, of 
this book. 

244. woodman's ballad. Woodman = 
hunter, forester; and woodman's 
ballad = one of the tales of 
Robin Hood, the hero of forest- 
ers. 



THE DESER7ED VILLAGE. 



223 



The host himself no longer shall be found 

Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 

Nor the coy maid, half willing to beprest, 

Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 250 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
One native charm than all the gloss of art ; 
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, 255 

The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; 
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade. 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed — 260 

In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 
The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey - 265 

The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 270 

Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around. 
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name 
That leaves our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 275 

Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds. 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth ; 280 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green : 



248. mantling bliss, foaming ale. 



224 



GOLDSMITH. 



Around the world each needful product flies 
For all the luxuries the world supplies ; 
While thus the land adorned for pleasure all 
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female unadorned and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies. 
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 
But when those charms are past, for charms are frail. 
When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress. 
Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed : 
In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed. 
But verging to decline, its splendors rise ; 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise : 
While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band, 
And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 
The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where then, ah ! where, shall poverty reside. 
To scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed 
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade. 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide. 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 

If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 
To see those joys the sons of pleasure know 
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 



84. Arouud the world . . . supplies : 

that is, the country exports 
products needed for home con- 
sumption, in order to obtain 
mere superfluities and luxuries. 



293. to bless : that is, to bless some 

one with her hand. 
298. Tistas, sights. 
316. artist = artisan. — the sickly trade 

=some trade injurious to health. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 

Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, 

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 

The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign 

Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train : 

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, 

The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 

Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! 

Sure these denote one universal joy ! 

Are these thy serious thoughts ? Ah, turn thine eyes 

Where the poor houseless, shivering female lies. 

She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed, 

Has wept at tales of innocence distressed \ 

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn : 

Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled, 

Near her betrayer's door she lays her head. 

And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower. 

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 

When idly first, ambitious of the town, 

She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn, — thine, the loveliest train, — 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 

Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes between, 
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
Far different there from all that charmed before 
The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 



225 



344. Altama, the river Altamaha in 
Georgia. The grant of land 
obtained by Oglethorpe and 
the " Trustees " was between 
the Altamaha and Savannah 
rivers. The first settlement 
was made in 1732. Bancroft 

15 



mentions a settlement made on 
the Altamaha, near Darien, by 
some Scotch Highlanders. 
Goldsmith's geography of 
Georgia — its " various terrors," 
" crouching tigers," etc. — will 
amuse the igth-century student. 



2 26 GOLDSMITH. 

Those matted woods, where birds forget to sing, 

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 35° 

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 

Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; 

Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 

Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 355 

And savage men more murderous still than they; 

While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 

Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 

Far different these from every former scene — 

The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 360 

The breezy covert of the warbling grove. 

That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day. 
That called them from their native walks away ; 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 365 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, 
And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
For seats like these beyond the western main. 
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep ! 37° 

The good old sire the first prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 37s 

The fond companion of his helpless years. 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 
And left a lover's for a father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes. 
And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose, 380 

And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear, 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of erief. 



368. scats, sites, localities. 



THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 



227 



O Luxury ! thou cursed by Heaven's decree, 
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy. 
Diffuse their pleasure only to destroy ! 
Kingdoms by thee to sickly greatness grown 
Boast of a florid vigor not their own ; 
At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 

Even now the devastation is begun,- 
And half the business of destruction done ; 
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
I see the rural Virtues leave the land. 
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, 
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 
Downward they move, a melancholy band, 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 
Contented Toil, and hospitable Care. 
And kind connubial Tenderness, are there ; 
And Piety with wishes placed above, 
And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. 
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid. 
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; 
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame 
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; 
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe. 
That found'st me poor at first and keep'st me so ; 
Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel. 
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! 



385 



399. anchoring = lying at anchor. 

402. strand, beach. 

413. Thou source . . . woe. Compare 
Wither's fine lines to his 
Muse, in his poem of The 
Shepherd''s Hiuiting (quoted 
by Hales) : 



' And though for her sake I'm crost, 
Though my best hopes I have lost, 
And knew she would make me trouble, 
Ten times more than ten times double, 
I should love and keep her too 
Spite of all the world could do. . . . 
She dotli tell me where to borrow 
Comfort in the midst of sorrow, 
Makes the desolatest place 
To her presence be a grace," etc. 



2 28 GOLDSMITH. 

Farewell, and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried, 
On Torno's cliffs or Pambamarca's side. 
Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, 
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow. 
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 
Redress the rigors of the inclement clime ; 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ; 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
Teach him that states of native strength possessed, 
Though very poor, may still be very blessed ; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 
As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 
While self-dependent power can time defy. 
As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 



418. Torno's cliffs. The poet probably i a mountain in South America 

has reference to the heights ' near Quito, 

around Lake Torneo, in the ex- 422. Redress . . . clime. Compare 
treme north of Sweden. — Pain- I Gray's Progress of Poesy, page 

bamarca's side. Pambamarca is 207, lines 54-62, of this book. 



XIV. 

EDMUND BURKE. 

1729-1797. 




CHARACTERIZATION BY HAZLITT. 

I. There is no single speech of Burke which can convey a satis- 
factory idea of his powers of mind. To do him justice, it would 
be necessary to quote all his works : the only specimen of Burke 
is, all he wrote. With respect to most other speakers, a specimen 



230 



BURKE. 



is generally enough, or more than enough. When you are ac- 
quainted with their manner, and see what proficiency they have 
made in the mechanical exercise of their profession, with what 
facility they can borrow a simile or round a period, how dex- 
terously they can argue and object and rejoin, you are satisfied ; 
there is no other difference in their speeches than what arises 
from the difference of the subjects. But this was not the case 
with Burke. He brought his subjects along with him ; he drew 
his materials from himself. The only limits which circumscribed 
his variety were the stores of his own mind. His stock of ideas 
did not consist of a few meagre facts, meagrely stated, of half a 
dozen commonplaces tortured in a thousand different ways ; but 
his mine of wealth was a profound understanding, inexhaustible 
as the human heart and various as the sources of human nature. 
He therefore enriched every subject to which he applied him- 
self, and new subjects were only the occasions of calling forth 
fresh powers of mind which had not been before exerted. 

2. Burke was so far from being a gaudy or flowery writer that 
he was one of the severest writers. His words are the most like 
things ; his style is the most strictly suited to the subject. He 
unites every extreme and every variety of composition ; the low- 
est and the meanest words and descriptions with the highest. 
He exults in the display of power, in showing the extent, the 
force, and intensity of his ideas ; he is led on by the mere im- 
pulse and vehemence of his fancy, not by the affectation of daz- 
zling his readers by gaudy conceits or pompous images. He was 
completely carried away by his subject. He had no other object 
but to produce the strongest impression on his reader, by giving 
the truest, the most characteristic, the fullest, and most forcible 
description of things, trusting to the power of his own mind to 
mould them into grace and beauty. He did not produce a splen- 
did effect by setting fire to the light vapors that float in the re- 
gions of fancy, as the chemists make fine colors with phosphorus, 
but by the eagerness of his blows struck fire from the flint, and 
melted the hardest substances in the furnace of his imagination. 
The wheels of his imagination did not catch fire from the rotten- 
ness of the materials, but from the rapidity of their motion. He 
most frequently produced an effect by the remoteness and nov- 
elty of his combinations, by the force of contrast, by the striking 



HAZLITT'S CHARACTERIZATION OF BURKE. 



23X 



manner in which the most opposite and unpromising materials 
were harmoniously blended together ; not by laying his hands 
on all the fine things he could think of, but by bringing together 
those things which he knew would blaze out into glorious light 
by their collision. The florid style is a mixture of affectation 
and commonplace. Burke's was a union of untamable vigor 
and originality. 

3. Burke was not a verbose writer. If he sometimes multiplies 
words, it is not for want of ideas, but because there are no words 
that fully express his ideas, and he tries to do it as well as he 
can by different ones. He had nothing of the set or formal style, 
the measured cadence, and stately phraseology of Johnson and 
most of our modern writers. This style, which is what we un- 
derstand by the artificial., is all in one key. It selects a certain 
set of words to represent all ideas whatever as the most dignified 
and eloquent, and excludes all others as low and vulgar. The 
words are not fitted to the things, but the things to the words. 
, 4. Burke was altogether free from the pedantry which I have 
here endeavored to expose. His style was as original as expres- 
sive, as rich and varied as it was possible ; his combinations 
were as exquisite, as playful, as happy, as unexpected, as bold and 
daring as his fancy. If anything, he ran into the opposite ex- 
treme of too great an inequality, if truth and nature could ever 
be carried to an extreme. 

5. Burke has been compared to Cicero — I do not know for 
what reason. Their excellences are as different, and indeed as 
opposite, as they can well be. Burke had not the polished ele- 
gance, the glossy neatness, the artful regularity, the exquisite 
modulation, of Cicero ; he had a thousand times more richness 
and originality of mind, more strength and pomp of diction. 



232 



BURKE. 



I.— LORD CHATHAM. 

[Introduction. — The following extract is from Burke's speech on Ameri- 
can Taxation, delivered in the House of Commons in 1774. It was made in sup- 
port of a motion (introduced April 19, 1774) that "the House take into consid- 
eration the duty of threepence per pound on tea, payable in all his Majesty's 
dominions in America," with a view to repealing the same. In the course of 
his long speech, Burke reviews the policy of several successive British minis- 
tries in their conduct towards the Anglo-American colonies, and the extract 
begins with his characterization of Lord Chatham (William Pitt), who became 
prime minister in 1766.] 

I. I have done with the third period of your pohcy — that of 
your repeal and the return of your ancient system and your 
ancient tranquillity and concord. Sir, this period was not as long 
as it was happy. Another scene was opened, and other actors 
appeared on the stage. The state, in the condition I have de- 
scribed it, was delivered into the hands of Lord Chatham — a 
great and celebrated name ; a name that keeps the name of this 



Notes. — Line i. the third period. 
Burke had reviewed the com- 
mercial policy of Great Britain 
towards the American colonies 
as it had appeared in three pe- 
riods — I, the period of the Nav- 
igation Acts ; 2, that of the at- 
tempts to raise revenue from 
America ; and 3, that of the re- 
peal of the Stamp Act. 

2. your repeal. The Stamp Act (for 
the provisions of which see 



United States History) was 
passed by Parliament in 1765 ; 
but owing to the vigorous op- 
position of the colonies, ex- 
pressed through the First Colo- 
nial Congress and supported by 
the eloquence of those illustri- 
ous friends of America, Burke 
and Chatham, the Act was re- 
pealed in the following year 
(1766), Lord Chatham becom- 
ing then prime minister. 



Literary Analysis. — What are the distinguishing qualities of Burke's 
style .'' Ans. They are sublimity of thought and splendor of imagery. 

3, 4- "ot as long as it was happy. Change this from the negative to the posi- 
tive form of statement. 

4) 5- Another scene . . . stage. What are the two figures of speech in this 
sentence ? (See Def 20.) 

5, 6. in the condition 1 have described it. Supply the ellipsis. 

7. that keeps the name, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 34.) 



LORD CHATHAM. 



233 



country respectable in every other on the globe. It may be 
truly caliea, "Clarum et venerabile nomen 

Gentibus, multum et nostrae quod proderat urbi." 
2. Sir, the venerable age of this great man, his merited rank, 
his superior eloquence, his splendid qualities, his eminent ser- 
vices, the vast space he fills in the eye of mankind; and, more 
than all the rest, his fall from power — which, like death, canon- 
izes * and sanctifies* a great character — will not suffer me to cen- 
sure any part of his conduct. I am afraid to flatter him ; I am 
sure I am not disposed to blame him. Let those who have be- 
trayed him by their adulation insult him with their malevolence. 
But what 1 do not presume to censure I may have leave to la- : 
ment. For a wise man he seemed to me at that time to be gov- 
erned too much by general maxims. I speak with the freedom 
of history, and, I hope, without offence. One or two of these 
maxims, flowing from an opinion iiot the most indulgent to our 



10, II. Clarum et reiierabile nomen, etc. 
From the Latin poet Lucan : 
"A name venerable and illus- 
trious to all nations, and which 
greatly advantaged our city." 

12-15. the venerable age . . . fall from 
power. William Pitt, first Earl 
of Chatham, was born in 1708, 
and at the time Burke delivered 
his speech was sixty-six years 
of age ; he died four years after- 
wards, in 1778. — In explanation 
of the expression " his merited 
rank," it may be stated that 
when he became prime minister 
in 1766, he was created Earl 



of Chatham. — " His fall from 
power" took place in 1768, 
when he resigned office, though 
in the House of Lords he con- 
tinued to do magnificent service 
in the cause of American liber- 
ty- 
24. maxims . . . not the most indulgent, 
etc. " He made far too little 
distinction between gangs of 
knaves, associated for the mere 
purpose of robbing the public, 
and confederacies of honorable 
men for the promotion of great 
public objects." — Macaulay : 
Essay on Chaiham. 



Literary Analysis. — 12-17. Sir. the venerable ... conduct. What is the 
figure of speech ? (See Def 33.) — What kind of sentence is this, grammatical- 
ly and rhetorically ? 

15, 16. What is the derivation of " canonizes ?" Of " sanctifies .''" 

17, 18. I am afriiid . . . him. What is the figure of speech .' (See Def 18.) 

18, 19. Let those . . . malevolence. Analyze this sentence. 

20, 21. censure . . . lament. What is the distinction between to "censure" 
and to " lament .''" 

24, 25. our unhappy species. Translate into a plain term. 



'■34 



BURKE. 



unhappy species, and surely a little too general, led him into 25 
measures that were greatly mischievous to himself, and for that 
reason, among others, perhaps fatal to his country — measures the 
effects of which, I am afraid, are forever incurable. 

3. He made an administration so checkered and speckled, he 
put together a piece of joinery so crossly indented and whimsi- 30 
cally dovetailed, a cabinet so variously inlaid, such a piece of di- 
versified mosaic,* such a tessellated pavement without cement — 
here a bit of black stone and there a bit of white, patriots and 
courtiers, king's friends and republicans, Whigs and Tories, 
treacherous friends and open enemies — that it was, indeed, ass 
very curious show, but utterly unsafe to touch and unsure to 
stand on. The colleagues whom he had assorted at the same 
boards stared at each other, and were obliged to ask, " Sir, your 
name .'"' — " Sir, you have the advantage of me." — " Mr. Such-a- 
one." — " I beg a thousand pardons." I venture to say, it did so 4° 
happen that persons had a single office divided between them 
who had never spoken to each other in their lives until they 



30. joinery, the work of a joiner, or 

cabinet-maker. 

31. variously inlaid = inlaid with vari- 

ous kinds of wood. 

32. mosaic, inlaid work in whicli tlie 

effect of painting is produced 
by the combination of pieces of 
colored stone, etc — tessellated, 
laid with checkered work. 



34. king's friends. This name now be- 
gan to be applied to the persons 
who supported King George 
III. in his despotic policy tow- 
ards America. 

38. boards, the tables around which the 
members of the cabinet assem- 
bled for consultation on public 
affairs. 



Literary Analysis. — 28. incurable. Is the word here used in the literal 
or the figurative sense ? 

29-37. He made . . . stand on. This passage has been called a specimen ot 
"dictionary eloquence," and it has been censured for its violation of the canon 
against mixed metaphors. (See Def. 20, iii.) But both criticisms are pedan- 
tic : it was, on the contrary, a fine piece of rhetorical art in Burke to construct 
a piece of imagery as curiously complex as that "piece of joinery," Lord 
Chatham's cabinet. The thought is marvellously i7ilaid m the "tessellated 
pavement " of Burke's figures. 



LORD CHATHAM. 



235 



found themselves, they knew not how, pigging together, lieads 
and points, in the same truckle-bed. 

4. Sir, in consequence of this arrangement, having put so much 4s 
the larger part of his enemies and opposers into power, the con- 
fusion was such that his own principles could not possibly have 
any effect or influence in the conduct of affairs. If ever he fell 
into a fit of the gout, or if any other cause withdrew him from 
public cares, principles directly the contrary were sure to pre- 50 
dominate. When he had executed his plan, he had not an inch 
of ground to stand upon. When he had accomplished his 
scheme of administration, he was no longer minister. 

5. When his face was hid but for a moment, his whole system 
was on a wide sea without chart or compass. The gentlemen, ss 
his particular friends, who, with the names of various depart- 
ments of ministry, were admitted to seem as if they acted a part 
under him, with a modesty that becomes all men, and with a con- 
fidence in him which was justified even in its extravagance by 
his superior abilities, had never in any instance presumed upon 60 
any opinion of their own. Deprived of his guiding influence, 
they were whirled about, the sport of every gust, and easily driv- 
en into any port; and as those who joined with them in manning 
the vessel were the most directly opposite to his opinions, meas- 



43, 44. heads and points, in the same 
ti-uckle-bed. A handful of pins 
shaken together will be found 
to have heads and points con- 
fused : in like manner two per- 
sons get more space in a nar- 
row bed (truckle-bed = a nar- 
row bed that runs on wheels 



under another) by lying, pig- 
fashion, opposite ways. 

49. gout. Chatham was from child- 
hood tormented by the gout, 
and after 1768 it afflicted him 
so severely that he seldom ap- 
peared in public. 

54. When his face, etc. See Isaiah liv., 8. 



Lri'ERARY Analysis. — 43. pigging together. What is the figure of speech ? 
(See Def. 20.) 

51-53. When he had. . . minister. Observe how, by the double statement, 
the thought is enforced. 

54, 55. his whole system . . . compass. What is the figure of speech? (See 
Def. 20.) 

61-68. Deprived . . . policy. To what image in the first part of this para- 
graph does the author here recur ? — What is the figure of speech ? (See 
Def. 20.) 



236 



BURKE. 



ures, and character, and far the most artful and most powerful of 65 
the set, they easily prevailed, so as to seize upon the vacant, un- 
occupied, and derelict minds of his friends ; and instantly they 
turned the vessel wholly out of the course of his policy. As if 
it were to insult as well as to betray him, even long before the 
close of the first session of his administration, when everything 7° 
was publicly transacted, and with great parade, in his name, they 
made an act declaring it highly just and expedient to raise a 
revenue in America. For even then, sir, even before this splen- 
did orb was entirely set, and while the western horizon was in a 
blaze with his descending glory, on the opposite quarter of the 75 
heavens arose another luminary, and, for his hour, became lord 
of the ascendant. 



72, 73. an act declaring, etc. All the 
good effect of the repeal of the 
Stamp Act in 1766 was undone 
in 1767 by Parliament's de- 
claring it expedient to raise a 
revenue in America and impos- 
ing a tax on the importation into 
the colonies of tea, paints, pa- 
per, glass, and lead. This 
scheme was carried in Parlia- 
ment through the influence of 
Charles Townshend (the "other 
luminary" referred to below, 
line 76), who held the place of 
Chancellor of the Exchequer in 



Chatham's ministry. "He was," 
says Hildreth {History of the 
United States, First Series, vol. 
ii., p. 538), " a man of brilliant 
parts, but without any settled 
principles." 

73, 74. this splendid orb: that is, Lord 
Chatham. 

76, 77. lord of the ascendant. In the 
astrological theories of the Mid- 
dle Ages the " lord of the as- 
cendant " was that planet or 
star that was supposed to rule 
the destiny of a person Of na- 
tion. 



Literary Analysis. — 73-77. For even then, sir, etc. What is the figure 
of speech ? (See Def. 20.) — This passage is acknowledged to contain the most 
gorgeous image in modern oratory. It should be committed to memory by 
the pupil. 



THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 



237 



II.— THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY IN THE AMERICAN COLONIES. 

[Introduction. — The following extract is from Burke's speech on Concilia- 
tio7i with America, perhaps his most finished oration. It was delivered in the 
House of Commons, March 22, 1775. Burke's plan of conciliation was to ad- 
mit the Americans " to an equal interest in the British constitution, and place 
them at once on the footing of Englishmen." The passage here given is that 
part of the speech devoted to the analysis of the temper of the Americans as 
exhibited in their sturdy resistance to taxation.] 

1. These, sir, are my reasons for not entertaining that high 
opinion of untried force by which many gentlemen, for whose 
sentiments in other particulars I have great respect, seem to be 
so greatly captivated. But there is still behind a third consider- 
ation concerning this object, which serves to determine my opin- 5 
ion on the sort of policy which ought to be pursued in the man- 
agement of America, even more than its population and its 
commerce, — I mean its tejitper and character. 

2. In this character of the Americans, a love of freedom is the 
predominating feature which marks and distinguishes the whole ; 10 
and as an ardent is always a jealous affection, your colonies be- 
come suspicious, restive, and untractable whenever they see the 
least attempt to wrest from them by force, or shuffle from them 
by chicane, what they think the only advantage worth living for. 
This fierce spirit of liberty is stronger in the English colonies is 
probably than in any other people of the earth ; and this from 

a great variety of powerful causes ; which to understand the true 
temper of their minds, and the direction which this spirit takes, 
it will not be amiss to lay open somewhat more largely. 

3. First, the people of the colonies are descendants of English- 20 
men. England, sir, is a nation which still, I hope, respects, and 
formerly adored, her freedom. The colonists emigrated from 



Notes. — l. These, sir, are my reasons. 

Burke, at this point of his ora- 
tion, has just summed up its 
preceding part by the statement 
of four definite reasons why 
military force should not be 
employed to coerce the colo- 
nies. 



22, 23. einigi-ated from you when, etc. 
The New England colonies 
had their origin in the time of 
the great struggle against the 
Stuarts (namely, James I. and 
Charles I.), when the spirit of 
civil liberty was peculiarly ac- 
tive in England. 



238 



BURKE. 



you when this part of your character was most predominant ; 
and they took this bias and direction the moment they parted 
from your hands. They are therefore not only devoted to lib- 25 
erty, but to liberty according to English ideas and on English 
principles. Abstract liberty, like other mere abstractions, is not 
to be found. Liberty inheres in some sensible object ; and ev- 
ery nation has formed to itself some favorite point which, by 
way of eminence, becomes the criterion of their happiness. It 3° 
happened, you know, sir, that the great contests for freedom in 
this country were from the earliest times chiefly upon the ques- 
tion of taxing. Most of the contests in the ancient common- 
wealths turned primarily on the right of election of magistrates, 
or on the balance among the several orders of the state. The 35 
question of money was not with them so immediate. But in 
England it was otherwise. On this point of taxes the ablest 
pens and most eloquent tongues have been exercised ; the 
greatest spirits have acted and suffered. In order to give the 
fullest satisfaction concerning the importance of this point, it 40 
was not only necessary for those who in argument defended the 
excellence of the English Constitution to insist on this privilege 
of granting money as a dry point of fact, and to prove that the 
right had been acknowledged, in ancient parchments and blind 
usages, to reside in a certain body called a House of Com-4s 
mons. They went much further \ they attempted to prove, and 
they succeeded, that in theory it ought to be so, from the par- 
ticular nature of a House of Commons, as an immediate repre- 
sentative of the people ; whether the old records had delivered 



28. Liberty inheres in some sensible ob- 
ject: that is, embodies itself in 
some concrete form, and is not 
contended for as an abstraction, 
but is made the issue in some 
particular causes, as in the right 
of taxing, etc. 

30. their happiness. A confusion of 
number will be noticed : " their " 
should be /'/j-, if "has "and "itself" 
are correct. Burke is, however, 
an uncommonly accurate writer. 

33, 34. in the ancient conimonvrealtlis : 



that is, in Greece and Rome — 
notably in Rome. 

37, 38- the ablest pens and most eloquent 
tongues. The reference is to 
such men as Hampden, Pym, 
and Selden. 

44. ancient parchments, etc. Especial- 
ly the " Charter of Liberties," or 
"Great Charta" {Magna Char- 
fa), granted by King John in 
1215, and thirty times confirmed. 
— blind usages, custom, as con- 
trasted with written law. 



THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 



239 



this oracle or not. They took infinite pains to inculcate, as a 5° 
fundamental principle, that in all monarchies the people must in 
effect themselves, mediately or immediately, possess the power 
of granting their own money, or no shadow of liberty could sub- 
sist. The colonies draw from you, as with their life-blood, these 
ideas and principles. Their love of liberty, as with you, fixed ss 
and attached on this specific point of taxing. Liberty might be 
safe, or might be endangered, in twenty other particulars, with- 
out their being much pleased or alarmed. Here they felt its 
pulse ; and as they found that beat, they thought themselves 
sick or sound. I do not say whether they were right or wrong 60 
in applying your general arguments to their own case. It is not 
easy, indeed, to make a monopoly of theorems and corollaries. 
The fact is that they did thus apply those general arguments ; 
and your mode of governing them, whether through lenity or in- 
dolence, through wisdom or mistake, confirmed them in the 65 
imagination that they, as well as you, had an interest in these 
common principles. 

4. They were further confirmed in this pleasing error by the 
form of their provincial legislative assemblies. Their govern- 
ments are popular in a high degree ; some are merely popular ; 70 
in all, the popular representative is the most weighty ; and this 
share of the people in their ordinary government never fails to 
inspire them with lofty sentiments, and with a strong aversion 
from whatever tends to deprive them of their chief importance. 

5. If anything were wanting to this necessary operation of the 75 
form of government, religion would have given it a complete ef- 
fect. Religion, always a principle of energy, in this new people 



50. this oracle, this truth. 

69, 70. Their governments arc popular. 

A popular government is one 
in which the legislative func- 
tions are exercised by the peo- 
ple. — merely popular = entirely, 
purely popular. This was the 
case with New England, which 
indeed was an aggregate of pure 
democracies. (See De Tocque- 
ville's Democracy in America, 



vol. i.) Other of the colonies 
were not so purely popular, 
some being proprietary govern- 
ments (as Pennsylvania and 
Maryland), and others royal 
provinces (as Virginia and the 
Carolinas). 
73, 74. aversion from. This is etymo- 
logically better than our mod- 
ern "aversion to," since "from" 
expresses the force of a. 



240 



BURKE. 



is no way worn out or impaired ; and their mode of professing it 
is also one main cause of this free spirit. The people are Prot- 
estants, and of that kind which is the most adverse to all im- So 
plicit submission of mind and opinion. This is a persuasion not 
only favorable to liberty, but built upon it. I do not think, sir, 
that the reason of this averseness in the dissenting churches 
from all that looks like absolute government is so much to be 
sought in their religious tenets as in their history. Every one 85 
knows that the Roman Catholic religion is at least coeval with 
most of the governments where it prevails ; that it has generally 
gone hand in hand with them, and received great favor and ev- 
ery kind of support from authority. The Church of England, too, 
was formed from her cradle under the nursing care of regular 90 
government. But the" dissenting interests have sprung up in di- 
rect opposition to all the ordinary powers of the world, and 
could justify that opposition pnly on a strong claim to natural 
liberty. Their very existence depended on the powerful and un- 
remitted assertion of that claim. All Protestantism, even the 95 
most cold and passive, is a sort of dissent. But the religion 
most prevalent in our Northern colonies is a refinement of the 
principle of resistance ; it is the dissidence * of dissent, and the 
Protestantism of the Protestant religion. This religion, under a 
variety of denominations, agreeing in nothing but in the com- 100 
munion of the spirit of liberty, is predominant in most of the 
Northern provinces, where the Church of England, notwith- 
standing its legal rights, is in reality no more than a sort of pri- 
vate sect, not composing, most probably, the tenth of the people. 
The colonists left England when this spirit was high, and in the 105 
emigrants was the highest of all ; and even that stream of for- 
eigners, which has been constantly flowing into these colonies, 
has, for the greatest part, been composed of dissenters from the 
establishments of their several countries, and have brought with 
them a temper and character far from alien to that of the people no 
with whom they mixed. 

6. Sir, I can perceive by their manner that some gentlemen 
object to the latitude of this description ; because in the South- 



D. of that kind, etc. : that is, Presby- I 83. averseness = aversion. 
terians, Puritans, etc. I 109. hare. Supply %uho. 



THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 241 

ern colonies the Church of England forms a large body, and 
has a regular establishment. It is certainly true. There is, 115 
however, a circumstance attending these colonies which, in my 
opinion, fully counterbalances this difference, and makes the 
spirit of liberty still more high and haughty than in those to the 
northward. It is, that in Virginia and the Carolinas they have 
a vast multitude of slaves. Where this is the case in any part 120 
of the world, those who are free are by far the most proud and 
jealous of their freedom. Freedom is to them not only an en- 
joyment, but a kind of rank and privilege. Not seeing there 
that freedom, as in countries where it is a common blessing, and 
as broad and general as the air, may be united with much abject 125 
toil, with great misery, with all the exterior of servitude, liberty 
looks, among them, like something that is more noble and liber- 
al. I do not mean, sir, to commend the superior morality of this 
sentiment, which has at least as much pride as virtue in it ; but 
I cannot alter the nature of man. The fact is so ; and these 130 
people of the Southern colonies are much more strongly, and 
with a higher and more stubborn spirit, attached to liberty than 
those to the northward. Such were all the ancient common- 
wealths ; such were our Gothic ancestors ; such in our days were 
the Poles; and such will be all masters of slaves, who are not 135 
slaves themselves. In such a people, the haughtiness of domi- 
nation combines with the spirit of freedom, fortifies it, and ren- 
ders it invincible. 

7. Permit me, sir, to add another circumstance in our colonies 
which contributes no mean part towards the growth and effect 140 
of this untractable spirit. I mean their education. In no coun- 
try perhaps in the world is the law so general a study. The 



125. as broad and general as the air. 1 134, 135. irere the Poles: that is, till 
"As broad and general as the; 1772, when, to quote Campbell's 

casing air." — SHAKESPEARE : ! familiar line, 

Macbeth. 

134. Gothic. Incorrect, unless "Goth- 
ic " be used in the widest sense, 
as synonymous with Teutonic. 
The forefathers of the people 
of England belonged to the 
Low-Dutch branch of the Ger- 
manic or Teutonic family. taken sufficient note. 
16 



*' Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell," 

142. is the law so general a study. This 
is an extremely interesting and 
important fact, and one of which 
our historians (Bancroft, Hil- 
dreth, and others) have not 



242 



BURKE. 



profession itself is numerous and powerful ; and in most prov- 
inces it takes the lead. The greater number of the Deputies 
sent to the Congress were lawyers. But all who read (and most hs 
do read) endeavor to obtain some smattering in that science. I 
have been told by an eminent bookseller that in no branch of 
his business, after tracts of popular devotion, were so many 
books as those on the law exported to the plantations. The 
colonists have now fallen into the way of printing them for their 150 
own use. I hear that they have sold nearly as many of Black- 
stone's Coimnentaries in America as in England. General Gage 
marks out this disposition very particularly in a letter on your 
table. He states that all the people in his government are law- 
yers, or smatterers in law ; and that in Boston they have been 155 
enabled, by successful chicane, wholly to evade many parts of 
one of your capital penal constitutions. The smartness of de- 
bate will say that this knowledge ought to teach them more 
clearly the rights of legislature, their obligations to obedience, 
and the penalties of rebellion. All this is mighty well. But my 160 
honorable and learned friend on the floor, who condescends to 
mark what I say for animadversion, will disdain that ground. 
He has heard, as well as I, that when great honors and great 
emoluments do not win over this knowledge to the service of 
the State, it is a formidable adversary to government. If the i6s 
spirit be not tamed and broken by these happy methods, it is stub- 
born and litigious. Abeunt studia in mores. This study renders 
men acute, inquisitive, dexterous, prompt in attack, ready in de- 
fence, full of resources. In other countries, the people, more 
simple, and of a less mercurial* cast, judge of an ill principle in 170 



155, 156- i" Boston . . . chicane. (See 
Bancroft, vol. vii., ch. viii.) Gen- 
eral Gage, in pursuance of the 
powers given him by the coercive 
statutes, had prohibited the call- 
ing of town meetings after Au- 
gust I, 1774. A town meeting 
was, how-ever, held, and assert- 
ed to be legal, not having been 
" called," but adjourned over. 
" By such means," said the puz- 



zled Gage, " you may keep your 
meeting alive ten years." He 
brought the subject before the 
new Council. " It is a point 
oilaw''' said they, "and should 
be referred to the Crown law- 
yers." 
167. Abeunt studia. The quotation is 
evidently adopted from Bacon's 
Essay of Studies (see page 34, 
line xd, of this book). 



THE SPIRIT OF LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 



^43 



government only by an actual grievance ; here they anticipate 
the evil, and judge of the pressure of the grievance by the bad- 
ness of the principle. They augur* misgovernment at a dis- 
tance, and snuff the approach of tyranny in every tainted 
breeze. 17s 

8. The last cause of this disobedient spirit in the colonies is 
hardly less powerful than the rest, as it is not merely moral, but 
laid deep in the natural constitution of things. Three thousand 
miles of ocean lie between you and them. No contrivance can 
prevent the effect of this distance in weakening government. iSo 
Seas roll, and months pass, between the order and the execu- 
tion ; and the want of a speedy explanation of a single point is 
enough to defeat a whole system. You have, indeed, winged 
ministers of vengeance, who carry your bolts in their pounces to 
the remotest verge of the sea. But there a power steps in, that iss 
limits the arrogance of raging passions and furious elements, 
and says, " So far shalt thou go, and no farther." Who are you, 
that you should fret and rage, and bite the chains of Nature ? 
Nothing worse happens to you than does to all nations who 
have extensive empire ; and it happens in all the forms into igo 
which empire can be thrown. In large bodies, the circulation of 
power must be less vigorous at the extremities. Nature has 
said it. The Turk cannot govern Egypt, and Arabia, and Cur- 
distan as he governs Thrace • nor has he the same dominion in 
Crimea and Algiers which he has at Brusa and Smyrna. Des- 195 
potism itself is obliged to truck and huckster. The sultan gets 
such obedience as he can. He governs with a loose rein, that 
he may govern at all ; and the whole of the force and vigor of 
his authority in his centre is derived from a prudent relaxation 

in all his borders. Spain, in her provinces, is, perhaps, not so 200 
well obeyed as you are in yours. She complies too ; she sub- 
mits ; she watches times. This is the immutable condition, the 
eternal law, of extensive and detached empire. 

9. Then, sir, from these six capital sources — of descent ; of 
form of government ; of religion in the Northern provinces ; of ,05 



183, 184. winged ministers, etc. The 
British men-of-war. — bolts in 
tlipir pounces, in allusion to the 



thunder - bolts placed by the 
Greek artists in the talons of 
the eagle, the bird of Jove. 



!44 



BURKE. 



manners in the southern ; of education ; of the remoteness of 
situation from the first mover of government \ — from all these 
causes a fierce spirit of liberty has grown up. It has grown with 
the growth of the people in your colonies, and increased with the 
increase of their wealth — a spirit that, unhappily meeting with 210 
an exercise of power in England which, however lawful, is not 
reconcilable to any ideas of liberty, much less with theirs, has 
kindled this flame that is ready to consume us. 



III.— TREATMENT OF THE KING AND QUEEN OF FRANCE. 

[Introduction. — This extract is from Burke's Reflections on the Revolution 
in F7-ance, written in 1790. In this work Burke takes strong grounds against 
the principles of the French revolutionary leaders, and reviews the events in 
Paris up to the date when the king and queen were conducted by the mob 
from Versailles to Paris, October 6, 1789.] 

I. I hear, and I rejoice to hear, that the great lady, the other 
object of the triumph, has borne that day (one is interested that 
beings made for suffering should suffer well), and that she 
bears all the succeeding clays, — that she bears the imprisonment 
of her husband, and her own captivity, and the exile of her friends, 
and the insulting adulation of addresses, and the whole weight of 
her accumulated wrongs, — with a serene patience, in a manner 
suited to her rank and race, and becoming the offsjDring of a sov- 
ereign distinguished for her piety and her courage ; that, like her, 
she has lofty sentiments ; that she feels with the dignity of a Ro- 
man matron ; that in the last extremity she will save herself 
from the last disgrace ; and that if she must fall, she will fall by 
no ignoble hand. 



Notes. — i. the great lady, the queen, 
Marie Antoinette. 

2. the triumph, the so-called "joyous 
entry," October 6, 1789, when 
the king and queen were brought 
by the mob from Versailles to 
Paris. 



8, 9. a sorereig-ii, etc. : that is, Maria 
Theresa, Empress of Austria, 
and mother of Marie Antoi- 
nette. 
II. ill the last extremity. Alluding to 
the queen's carrying poison 
about with her. 



TREATMENT OF THE KING AND QUEEN OF FRANCE. 245 



2. It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen 
of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles ; and surely never 15 
lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more 
delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating 
and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in — 
glittering like the morning-star, full of life and splendor and 
joy. Oh, what .a revolution ! and what a heart I must have to 20 
contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall ! Lit- 
tle did I dream, when she added titles of veneration to those of 
enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she would ever be 
obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed 
in that bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to see 25 
such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a 
nation of men of honor and of cavaliers.* I thought ten thou- 
sand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge 
even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of 
chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calcula-30 
tors has succeeded ; and the glory of Europe is extinguished 
forever. Never, never more shall we behold that generous 
loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified 
obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, 
even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The 35 
unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse 
of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone ! It is gone. 



14. It is now, etc. In regard to the 
incident recorded in this pas- 
sage, Burke, in a letter to Sir 
Philip Francis (the supposed 
author of yunhis), makes the 
following interesting observa- 
tions : " I tell you again that the 
recollection of the manner in 
which I saw the Queen of 
France in the year 1774, and the 
contrast between that brilliancy, 
splendor, and beauty, with the 
prostrate homage of a nation to 
her, and the abominable scene of 
1 789, which I was describing", did 
draw tears from me, and wetted 
my paper. These tears came 



again into my eyes, almost as 
often as I looked at the descrijD- 
tion ; they may again." 

15. tlie dauphiness. Marie Antoinette 
had been married to the grand- 
son of Louis XV. while that 
grandson was still the dauphin, 
orheirapparent, of France; and 
four years succeeded the mar- 
riage before he came to the 
throne as Louis XVI. " Dau- 
phiness "=:the wife of the dau- 
phin. 

22. titles of Teneratiou : as, for example, 
that of queen. 

24. sharp antidote. See note to line II. 

30. sophisters = sophists. 



246 BURKE. 

that sensibility of principle, tliat cliastity of honor, which felt a 
stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated 
ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which 40 
vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its grossness. 

3. This mixed system of opinion and sentiment had its origin 
in the ancient chivalry ; and the principle, though varied in its 
appearance by the varying state of human affairs, subsisted and 
influenced through a long succession of generations, even to the 4s 
time we live in. If it should ever be totally extinguished, the 
loss, I fear, will be great. It is this which has given its character 
to modern Europe, It is this which has distinguished it under 
all its forms of government, and distinguished it to its advan- 
tage, from the states of Asia, and possibly from those states 5° 
which flourished in the most brilliant periods of the antique 
world. It was this which, without confounding ranks, had pro- 
duced a noble equality, and handed it down through all the gra- 
dations of social life. It was this opinion which mitigated kings 
into companions, and raised private men to be fellows with 55 
kings. Without force or opposition, it subdued the fierceness 
of pride and power ; it obliged sovereigns to submit to the soft 
collar of social esteem, compelled stern authority to submit to 
elegance, and gave a dominating vanquisher of laws to be sub- 
dued by manners. '^° 

4. But now all is to be changed. All the pleasing illusions 
which made power gentle and obedience liberal, which harmo- 
nized the different shades of life, and which, by a bland assimi- 
lation, incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify 
and soften private society, are to be dissolved by this new con- 65 
quering empire of light and reason. All the decent drapery of 
life is to be rudely torn off. All the superadded ideas, fur- 
nished from the wardrobe of a moral imagination, which the 
heart owns and the understanding ratifies, as necessary to cover 
the defects of our naked, shivering nature, and to raise it to ^° 
dignity in our own estimation, are to be exploded as a ridic- 
ulous, absurd, and antiquated fashion. 

5. On this scheme of things, a king is but a man, a queen is but 



55. fellows, equals. j the French revolutionists and 

73. this scheme: that is, the scheme of I political theorists. 



TREATMENT OF THE KING AND QUEEN OF FRANCE. 247 

a woman, a woman is but an animal, and an animal not of the 
highest order. All homage paid to the sex in general as such, 75 
and without distinct views, is to be regarded as romance and 
folly. Regicide and jDarricide and sacrilege are but fictions of 
superstition, corrupting jurisprudence by destroying its simplic- 
ity. The murder of a king, or a queen, or a bishop, or a father 
is only common homicide ; and if the people are by any chance, 80 
or in any way, gainers by it, a sort of homicide much the most 
pardonable, and into which we ought not to make too severe a 
scrutiny. 

6. On the scheme of this barbarous philosophy, which is the off- 
spring of cold hearts and muddy understandings, and which is as 85 
void of solid wisdom as it is destitute of all taste and elegance, 
laws are to be supported only by their own terrors, and by the 
concern which each individual may find in them from his own 
private speculations, or can spare to them from his own private 
interests. In the groves of their Academy, at the end of every 9° 
visto, you see nothing but the gallows ! Nothing is left which 
engages the affections on the part of the commonwealth. On 
the principles of this mechanic philosophy, our institutions can 
never be embodied, if I may use the expression, in persons, so 
as to create in us love, veneration, admiration, or attachment. 9S 
But that sort of reason which banishes the affections is inca- 
pable of filling their place. These public affections, combined 
with manners, are required sometimes as supplements, some- 
times as correctives, always as aids, to law. The precept given 
by a wise man, as well as a great critic, for the construction of 100 
poems is equally true as to states : " Non satis est pulchra esse 
poemata, dulcia sunto." There ought to be a system of manners 
in every nation which a well-formed mind would be disposed to 
relish. To make us love our country, our country ought to be 
lovely. los 

91. Tisto = vista. I the Ars Poetica, and means, " It 



93. mechanic = merely mechanical. 
100-102. vise mail . . . sunto: that is, 
Horace. The passage is from 



is not enough that poems be 
beautiful, they must also be 
sweet." 



XV. 

WILLIAM COWPER. 

1731-1800. 






CHARACTERIZATION BY CAMPBELL. 

I. The nature of Cowper's works makes us peculiarly identify 
the poet and the man in perusing them. As an individual, he 
was retired and weaned from the vanities of the world ; and as 
an original writer, he left the ambitious and luxuriant subjects 



CAMPBELL'S CHARACTERIZATION OF COWPER. 249 

of fiction and passion for those of real life and simple nature, and 
for the development of his own earnest feelings in behalf of moral 
and religious truth. 

2. His language has such a masculine, idiomatic strength, and 
his manner, whether he rises into grace or falls into negligence, 
has so much plain and familiar freedom, that we read no poetry 
with a deeper conviction of its sentiments having come from the 
author's heart ; and of the enthusiasm, in whatever he describes, 
having been unfeigned and unexaggerated. He impresses us 
with the idea of a being whose fine spirit had been long enough 
in the mixed society of the world to be polished by its inter- 
course, and yet withdrawn so soon as to retain an unworldly de- 
gree of purity and simplicity. 

3. He was advanced in years before he became an author; 
but his compositions display a tenderness of feeling so youth- 
fully preserved, and even a vein of humor so far from being ex- 
tinguished by his ascetic habits, that we can scarcely regret his 
not having written them at an earlier period of life. For he 
blends the determination of age with an exquisite and ingenuous 
sensibility ; and, though he sports very much with his subjects, 
yet, when he is in earnest, there is a gravity of long-felt convic- 
tion in his sentiments which gives an uncommon ripeness of 
character to his poetry. 

4. It is due to Cowper to fix our regard on this unaffectedneSs 
and authenticity of his works, considered as representations of 
himself, because he forms a striking instance of genius, writing 
the history of its own secluded feelings, reflections, and enjoy- 
ments, in a shape so interesting as to engage the imagination 
like a work of fiction. He has invented no character in fable, 
nor in the drama ; but he has left a record of his own character, 
which forms not only an object of deep sympathy, but a subject 
for the study of human nature. His verse, it is true, considered 
as such a record, abounds with opposite traits of severity and 
gentleness, of playfulness and superstition, of solemnity and 
mirth, which appear almost anomalous ; and there is, undoubt- 
edly, sometimes an air of moody versatility in the extreme con- 
trasts of his feelings. 

5. But looking to his poetry as an entire structure, it has a 
massive air of sincerity. It is founded in steadfast principles of 



250 COWPER. 

belief ; and if we may prolong the architectural metaphor, though 
its arches may be sometimes gloomy, its tracery sportive, and its 
lights and shadows grotesquely crossed, yet, altogether, it still 
forms a vast, various, and interesting monument of the builder's 
mind. Young's works are as devout, as satirical, sometimes as 
merry, as those of Cowper, and undoubtedly more witty. But 
the melancholy and wit of Young do not make up to us the idea 
of a conceivable or natural being. He has sketched in his pages 
the ingenious but incongruous form of a fictitious mind ; Cow- 
per's soul speaks from his volumes. 

6. Considering the tenor and circumstances of his life, it is not 
much to be wondered at that some asperities and peculiarities 
should have adhered to the strong stem of his genius, like the 
moss and fungus that cling to some noble oak of the forest amidst 
the damps of its unsunned retirement. 



MRS. BROWNING'S STANZAS ON COWPER'S GRAVE. 

1. It is a place where poets crowned 

May feel the heart's decaying ; 
It is a place where happy saints 

May weep amid their praying. 
Yet let the grief and humbleness 

As low as silence languish. 
Earth surely now may give her calm 

To whom she gave her anguish. 

2. O poets ! from a maniac's tongue^ 

Was poured the deathless singing ! 
O Christians ! at your cross of hope 

A hopeless hand was clinging ! 
O men ! this man in brotherhood. 

Your weary paths beguiling, 
Groaned inly while he taught you peace. 

And died while ye were smiling. 

' Cowper was .of an extremely melancholy temperament (yet he wrote John 
Gilpin!). During his whole life he was subject to temporary fits of mental 
aberration, and before his death became wholly insane. 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 

3. And now, what time ye all may read 

Through dimming tears his story — 
How discord on the music fell, 

And darkness on the glory ; 
And how, when, one by one, sweet sounds 

And wandering lights departed, 
He wore no less a loving face 

Because so broken-hearted. 

4. He shall be strong to sanctify 

The poet's high vocation. 
And bow the meekest Christian clown 

In meeker adoration ; 
Nor ever shall he be in praise 

By wise or good forsaken ; 
Named softly as the household name 

Of one whom God hath taken ! 



251 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE OUT OF 
NORFOLK. 

[Introduction. — These touching lines were written by Cowper in 1790, 
ten years before his death. The occasion was the receipt of his mother's por- 
trait from his cousin Ann Bodham, and in a letter to that lady he uses the 
following words : "The world could not have furnished you with a present so 
acceptable to me as the picture which you have so kindly sent me. I received 
it the night before last, and viewed it with a trepidation of nerves and spirits 
somewhat akin to what I should have felt had the dear original presented her- 
self to my embraces. I kissed it and hung it where it is the last object that I 
see at night, and, of course, the first on which I open my eyes in the morning. 
She died when I completed my sixth year ; yet I remember her well, and am 
an ocular witness of the great fidelity of the copy."] 

Oh that those lips had language ! Life has passed 
With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 

Literary Analysis. — i. Oh that, etc. What kind of sentence grammati- 
cally? Observe that "oh" here is the emotional interjection, not the mere 
sign of the vocative case, which should be written O. Translated from emo- 
tional into intellectual expression, " Oh " is equivalent to the sentence Houi I 
wish that ! ^ 

2. but roughly. What is the force of " but " here ? 

^ "Speech is the expression oi thought, but an interjection is the expression 



552 



COWPER. 

Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, 
The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
" Grieve not, my child; chase all thy fears away !" 
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
(Blest be the art that can immortalize — 
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 
To quench it) here shines on me still the same. 
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 

welcome guest, thougli- unexpected here, 
Who bidd'st me honor with an artless song, 
Affectionate, a mother lost so long ! 

1 will obey, not willingly alone. 

But gladly, as the precept were her own : 
And, while that face renews my filial grief, 
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, 
Shall steep me in Elysian revery,* 
A momentary dream, that thou art she. 

My mother ! when I learned that thou wast dead, 
Sav, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed .'' 



Literary Analysis. — 5. else how distinct. What is the force of " else ?" 
— For what word is "distinct" here used by poetic license.'' 

6. Grieve not . . . away. Analyze this sentence. 

7- meek intelligence. Explain. 

8-10. the art . . . it. To what art does the author refer .? — Translate this 
periphrasis into plain language. 

12. 0. Is this the emotional interjection, or the sign of the vocative case ? 

13, 14. artless song, Affectionate. Remark on the order of words. See Mil- 
ton's U Allegro, page 51, note 32, of this book. 

16. as the precept were her own. In this construction modern prose usage 
requires the conjunction z/ after as ; but the old English idiom is "as" alone 
followed by a verb in the subjunctive. 

19. Elysian revery. Explain. Discriminate between " revery " and rt;'(?«?«. 

21. My mother! etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 23.) 



of feeling ; so that it is not, strictly speaking, a part of speech. Indeed, in place 
of being n^art of a sentence, it is itself an entire though unanalyzed utterance 
of emotion, and expresses, in its own way, what it would require a whole sen- 
tence to state — provided this statement were possible." — Swinton : Neiv 
Etigiish Grammar, page 196. 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 

Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 

Wretch even then, hfe's journey just begun ? 

Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss ? 

Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss ? 

Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers, Yes. 

I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, 

I saw the hearse * that bore thee slow away. 

And, turning from my nursery window, drew 

A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! * 

But was it such ? — It was. — Where thou art gone. 

Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 

May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 

The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! 

Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern. 

Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 

What ardently I wished, I long believed. 

And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 

By expectation every day beguiled, 

Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 

Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 

Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 

I learned at last submission to my lot; 

But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 

Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more. 
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor ; 



253 



Literary Analysis. — 24. Wretch even then. See note to Mrs. Browning's 
lines, page 250. 

25. unfelt. What is the grammatical construction ? 

26. if souls . . . bliss. Arrange this expression in the prose order, and ex- 
plain its meaning. — What is the figure of speech in "bliss V (See Def. 29.) 

27. maternal smile. Vary the form of expression. 

28-31. I heard ... adieu. Analyze this sentence. — slow. Give the prose 
form. 

32. such. Supply the ellipsis. 

35. pass my lips. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 20.) 

38. What . . . believed. Arrange in the prose order, and analyze. 

39. And . . .deceived. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 18.) 

42. sad to-morrotv came, etc. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 22.) 
46. Where once . . . more. Cowper's father was rector of Great Berkham- 
stead, England. He died in 1756. 



254 



COWPER. 

And where the gardener Robin, day by day, 

Drew me to school along the public way, 

Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped 

In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capped, 

'Tis now become a history little known. 

That once we called the pastoral house our own. 

Short-lived possession ! but the record fair 

That memory keeps of all thy kindness there 

Still outlives many a storm that has effaced 

A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 

Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, 

That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid ; 

Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, 

The biscuit or confectionery plum ; 

The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed 

By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed, - 

All this, and, more endearing still than all. 

Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall. 

Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks, 

That humor interposed too often makes ; 

All this still legible in memory's page. 

And still to be so to my latest age, 



Literary Analysis. — 50. bauble. The word is ultimately connected with 
babe, and hence the meaning of the epithet as here used. 

51. scarlet mantle >varni. Remark on the order of words. — velret- capped. 
Explain. 

52. 'Tis now become. Modernize. 

53. pastoral house. Why " pastoral ?" 

54. fair. Substitute a synonymous word for "fair" as here used. 

56. Still outliTes, etc. " I can truly say," wrote Cowper, nearly fifty years 
after his mother's death, " that not a week passes (perhaps I might with equal 
veracity say a day) in which I do not think of her : such was the impression 
her tenderness made upon me, though the opportunity she had for showing it 
was so short." 

57. themes. What is the force of this word as here used? 

65, 66. Thy constant . . . breaks. Point out the metaphorical words in these 
lines. 

67.. humor. What is meant by " humor " here .'' 

68. legible . . . page. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 20.) 



ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 

Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 

Such honors to thee as my numbers may; 

PerhajDS a frail memorial, but sincere, 

Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here. 

Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours 

When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers. 

The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 

I pricked them into paper with a pin 

(And thou wast happier than myself the while; 

Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile), 

Could those few pleasant days again appear, 

Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? 

I would not trust my heart — the dear delight 

Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. 

But no ! what here we call our life is such, 

So little to be loved, and thou so much. 

That I should ill requite thee to constrain 

Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
(The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) 
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle 
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile. 
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
Her beauteous form reflected clear below. 
While airs impregnated with incense play 
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay, — 
So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore, 
"Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar;" 
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
Of life long since has anchored by thy side. 



255 



Literary Analysis. — 71. numbers, a conspicuous word in tlie poetic dic- 
tion of last century : wliat does it mean ? Compare Pope's 
'■ I lisped in nmnbers^ for the numbers came." 

72. frail memorial. In wliat line of Gray's Elegy does this expression oc- 
cur t Explain it. 

75. thy vesture's tissued flowers. Explain. 

86, 87. to constrain . . . again. Express in your own language. 

88-105. Point out how the metaphor is developed. 

97. The line is quoted from a poem called The Dispensary, by Garth. 



256 COWPER. 

But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
Always from port withheld, always distressed — 
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, 
Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost. 
And day by day some current's thwarting force 
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
But oh ! the thought that thou art safe, and he. 
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
From loins enthroned and rulers of the earth; 
But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
The son of parents passed into the skies. 
And now, farewell ! Time unrevoked has run 
His wonted course ; yet what I wished is done. 
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; 
To have renewed the joys that once were mine, 
Without the sin of violating thine ; 
And, while the wings of fancy still are free. 
And I can view this mimic show of thee, 
Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left. 



Literary Analysis.— 103. rompass lost. What fact in Cowper's life adds 
immense force to this expression ? which explain. 

106. and he. Supply the ellipsis. 

109. loins. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 28.)— Cowper's mother 
traced her ancestry through four different lines to Henry III. of England. 

119. mimic show. Explain. 

121. Thyself removed . . . left. What is the figure of speech } (See Def. 18.) 



XVI. 

EDWARD GIBBON. 

1737-1794- 




GIBBON'S OWN ACCOUNT OF HIS GREAT HISTORY.' 

I. It was at Rome, on the 15th of October, 1764, as I sat mus- 
ing amidst the ruins of the capitol, while the barefooted friars 
were singing vespers in the Temple of Jupiter, that the idea of 

' From Gibbon's Memoir of My Life and Writings. 
17 



258 GIBBON. 

writing the decline and fall of the city first started to my mind. 
But my original plan was circumscribed to the decay of the city, 
rather than of the empire ; and though my reading and reflec- 
tions began to point towards that object, some years elapsed, 
and several avocations nitervened, before I was seriously en- 
gaged in the execution of that laborious task. 

2. No sooner was I settled in my house and library than I un- 
dertook the composition of the first volume of my History. At 
the outset all was dark and doubtful ; even the title of the work, 
the true era of the decline and fall of the empire, the limits of 
the introduction, the division of the chapters, and the order of 
the narrative ; and I was often tempted to cast away the labor 
of seven years. The style of an author should be the image of 
his mind, but the choice and command of language is the fruit 
of exercise. Many experiments were made before I could hit 
the middle tone between a dull chronicle and a rhetorical decla- 
mation. Three times did I compose the first chapter, and twice 
the second and third, before I was tolerably satisfied with their 
effect. In the remainder of the way I advanced with a more 
equal and easy pace ; but the fifteenth and sixteenth chapters 
have been reduced, by three successive revisals, from a large vol- 
ume to their present size ; and they might still be compressed, 
without any loss of facts or sentiments. An opposite fault may 
be imputed to the concise and superficial narrative of the first 
reigns from Commodus to Alexander ; a fault of which I have 
never heard, except from Mr. Hume in his last journey to Lon- 
don. Such an oracle might have been consulted and obeyed 
with rational devotion ; but I was soon disgusted with the mod- 
est practice of reading the manuscript to my friends. Of such 
friends, some will praise from politeness, and some will criticise 
from vanity. The author himself is the best judge of his own 
performance ; no one has so deeply meditated the subject ; no 
one is so sincerely interested in the event. 

3. It was not till after many designs and many trials that I 
preferred, as I still prefer, the method of grouping my picture by 
nations ; and the seeming neglect of chronological order is sure- 
ly compensated by the superior merits of interest and perspicu- 
ity. The style of the first volume is, in my opinion, somewhat 
crude and elaborate ; in the second and third it is ripened into 



GIBBON'S OWN ACCOUNT OF HIS GREAT HISTORY. 259 

ease, correctness, and numbers ; but in the three last I may have 
been seduced by the facility of my pen, and the constant habit of 
speaking one language and writing another may have infused 
some mixture of Gallic idioms. 

4. Happily for my eyes, I have always closed my studies with 
the day, and commonly with the morning ; and a long but tem- 
perate labor has been accomplished without fatiguing either the 
mind or body ; but when I computed the remainder of my time 
and my task, it was apparent that, according to the season of 
publication, the delay of a month would be productive of that of 
a year. I was now straining for the goal, and in the last winter 
many evenings were borrowed from the social pleasures of Lau- 
sanne. I could now wish that a pause, an interval, had been al- 
lowed for a serious revisal. 

5. I have presumed to mark the moment of conception: I shall 
now commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. It was on 
the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, between the 
hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last 
page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying clown my 
pen, J took several turns in a hei-cemi, or covered walk of acacias, 
which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the 
mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the sil- 
ver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature 
was silent. I will not dissemble the first emotions of joy on re- 
covery of my freedom, and, perhaps, the establishment of my 
fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy 
was spread over my mind by the idea that I had taken an ever- 
lasting leave of an old and agreeable companion, and that what- 
soever might be the future date of my History, the life of the 
historian must be short and precarious. 

6. I will add two facts, which have seldom occurred in the com- 
position of six, or at least of five, quartos : i. My first rough man- 
uscript, without any intermediate copy, has been sent to the press ; 
2. Not a sheet has been seen by any human eyes, excepting those 
of the author and the printer. The faults and the merits are ex- 
clusively my own. 



26o 



GIBBON. 



THE OVERTHROW OF ZENOBIA. 

[Introduction. — The following extract is from Gibbon's Decline and Fall 
of the Roman Empire, the first volume of which was published in 1776. Sir 
Archibald Alison speaks of Gibbon as " the architect of a bridge over the 
dark gulf which separates ancient from modern times, whose vivid genius has 
tinged with brilliant colors the greatest historical work in existence."] 

I. Aurelian had no sooner secured the person and provinces of 
Tetricus than he turned his arms against Zenobia, the celebrated 
Queen of Pahnyra and the East. Modern Europe has produced 
several illustrious women who have sustained with glory the weight 
of empire, nor is our own age destitute of such distinguished char- 5 
acters. But if we except the doubtful achievements of Semira- 
mis, Zenobia is, perhaps, the only female whose superior genius 
broke through the servile indolence imposed on her sex by the 
climate and manners of Asia. She claimed her descent from 
the Macedonian kings of Egypt, equalled in beauty her ancestor 10 
Cleopatra, and far surpassed that princess in chastity and valor. 



Notes. — Line i. Aurelian, a Roman 
emperor, was born in the early 
part of the third century A.D., 
and was assassinated in A.D. 

275- 
2. Tetricus, a Roman senator, one of 
the numerous usurpers of the 
imperial purple in the third 
century A.D., who are distin- 
guished in Roman history by 
the name of the Thirty Tyrants. 
— Zenobia, Septimia, was the 
daughter of an Arab chief who 
ruled the southern part of Mes- 
opotamia. Her second hus- 
band was Odenathus, Prince of 
Palmyra, after whose assassi- 
nation, in A.D. 267, she succeed- 



ed him, extended her sway over 
considerable portions of Meso- 
potamia and Syria, and assumed 
the title of Queen of the East. 

3. Palmyra, an ancient city in an oasis 
in the Syrian desert, was an in- 
dependent city, and a great em- 
porium of trade. In the reign 
of Hadrian it formed an alliance 
with Rome. 

6, 7. Semiramis, a queen of Assyria, 
who, according to fabulous tra- 
ditions handed down by classi- 
cal authors, reigned about B.C. 
2000. 
II. Cleopatra, the last queen of Egypt, 
was born in B.C. 69, and died 
B.C. 30. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-3. Aurelian . . . East. What kind of sentence, 
grammatically and rhetorically ? 

5, 6. such distinguislied characters. Can you name any celebrated female 
sovereigns the contemporaries of Gibbon ? 



THE OVERTHROW OF ZENOBIA. 



261 



Zenobia was esteemed the most lovely as well as the most heroic 
of her sex. She was of a dark complexion (for in speaking of a 
lady these trifles become important). Her teeth were of a pearly 
whiteness, and her large black eyes sparkled with uncommon 15 
fire, tempered by the most attractive sweetness. Her voice was 
strong and harmonious. Her manly understanding was strength- 
ened and adorned by study. She was not ignorant of the Latin 
tongue, but possessed in equal perfection the Greek, the Syriac, 
and the Egyptian languages. She had drawn up for her own 20 
use an epitome* of Oriental history, and familiarly compared the 
beauties of Homer and Plato under the tuition of the sublime 
Longinus. 

2. This accomplished woman gave her hand to Odenathus, 
who, from a private station, raised himself to the dominion of the 25 
East. She soon became the friend and companion of a hero. 
In the intervals of war, Odenathus passionately delighted in the 
exercise of hunting ; he pursued with ardor the wild beasts of the 
desert, lions, panthers, and bears ; and the ardor of Zenobia in 
that dangerous amusement was not inferior to his own. She had 3° 
inured her constitution to fatigue, disdained the use of a covered 
carriage, generally appeared on horseback in a military habit, 
and sometimes marched several miles on foot at the head of the 
troops. The success of Odenathus was, in a great measure, as- 
cribed to her incomparable prudence and fortitude. Their splen- 35 
did victories over the great king, whom they twice pursued as far 
as the gates of Ctesiphon, laid the foundations of their united 



23. Longi'nns (born about A.D. 213) 
was a Greek writer who re- 
moved to Palmyra on invitation 
of Zenobia, and became not only 
her literary instructor, but also 
her principal political counsel- 
lor. His chief work was a 
treatise On the Sublime. 



26. the friend . . . hero : that is, the 
friend and companion of Ode- 
nathus. 

36. the great king: that is, the King of 
Pei^sia (Sapor), to whom the Ro- 
man emperor Valerian surren- 
dered, but who was pursued and 
twice defeated by Odenathus. 



Literary Analysis. — 17. manly understanding. Substitute equivalent 
words. 

18. not ignorant. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 31.) 
21. epitome. State the derivation of this word. — Give a synonym. 



262 GIBBON. 

fame and power. The armies which they commanded, and the 
provinces which they had saved, acknowledged not any other 
sovereigns than their invincible chiefs. The senate and people 40 
of Rome revered a stranger who had avenged their captive em- 
peror, and even the insensible son of Valerian accepted Odena- 
thus for his legitimate colleague. 

3. After a successful expedition against the Gothic plunderers 
of Asia, the Palmyrenian prince returned to the city of Emesa, in 45 
Syria. Invincible in war, he was there cut off by domestic trea- 
son, and his favorite amusement of hunting was the cause, or at 
least the occasion, of his death. His nephew Maeonius presumed 
to dart his javelin before that of his uncle, and, though admon- 
ished of his error, repeated the same insolence. As a monarch 50 
and as a sportsman, Odenathus was provoked, took away his 
horse — a mark of ignominy among the barbarians — and chas- 
tised the rash youth by a short confinement. The offence was 
soon forgot, but the punishment was remembered, and Maeonius, 
with a few daring associates, assassinated his uncle in the midst 55 
of a great entertainment. Herod, the son of Odenathus, though 
not of Zenobia, a young man of a soft and effeminate temper, was 
killed with his father. But Mseonius obtained only the pleasure 
of revenge by this bloody deed. He had scarcely time to assume 
the title of Augustus before he was sacrificed by Zenobia to the 60 
memory of her husband.^ 

4. With the assistance of his most faithful friends, she imme- 
diately filled the vacant throne, and governed with manly coun- 
cils Palmyra, Syria, and the East above five years. By the death 



42. insensible son of Talerian. The ; thus, the latter was associated 

reference is to the Roman em- j by Gallienus in the government 

peror Gallienus. of the Roman empire with the 

42,43. accepted . . . colleague. After [ title of Augustus. 

the defeat of Sapor by Odena- : 62. liis: that is, Odenathus's. 



Literary Analysis. — 40. their. To what noun does "their" refer? 

46. Inrincible in war. What kind of phrase, and an adjunct to what word? 

47, 48. cause . . . occasion. What is the distinction between these two words ? 
54. forgot. Query as to this form of the word. 

62-92. IVitli . . . East. Distinguish which of the twelve sentences in para- 
graph 4 are periodic and which loose sentences. 



THE OVERTHROW OF ZENOBIA. 263 

of Odenathus, that authority was at an end which the senate had 65 
granted him only as a personal distinction ; but his martial wid- 
ow, disdaining both the senate and Gallienus, obliged one of the 
Roman generals, who was sent against her, to retreat into Eu- 
rope, with the loss of his army and his reputation. Instead of 
the little jDassions which so frequently perplex a female reign, 7° 
the steady administration of Zenobia was guided by the most 
judicious maxims of policy. If it was expedient to pardon, she 
could calm her resentment ; if it was necessary to punish, she 
could impose silence on the voice of pity. Her strict economy 
was accused of avarice ; yet on every proper occasion she ap- 75 
peared magnificent and liberal. The neighboring states of Ara- 
bia, Armenia, and Persia dreaded her enmity, and solicited her 
alliance. To the dominions of Odenathus, which extended from 
the Euphrates to the frontiers of Bithynia, his widow added the 
inheritance of her ancestors, the populous and fertile kingdom of 80 
Egypt. The Emperor Claudius acknowledged her merit, and was 
content that, while he pursued the Gothic war, she should assert 
the dignity of the empire in the East. The conduct, however, of 
Zenobia was attended with some ambiguity;* nor is it unlikely 
that she had conceived the design of erecting an independent 85 
and hostile monarchy. She blended with the popular manners 
of Roman princes the stately pomp of the courts of Asia, and ex- 
acted from her subjects the same adoration that was paid to the 
successors of Cyrus. She bestowed on her three sons a Latin 
education, and often showed them to the troops adorned with the 90 
imperial purple. For herself she reserved the diadem, with the 
splendid but doubtful title of Queen of the East. 

5. When Aurelian passed over into Asia, against an adversary 



65. the senate : that is, the Roman I 88, 89. the successors of Cyrus : that is, 
senate. See note to line 42. I the kings of Persia. 



Literary Analysis. — 69-72. Substitute synonymous terms for the itali- 
cized words in the following sentence : " Instead of the little passions which so 
frequently perplex a female reign, the steady administration of Zenobia was 
guided by the most jtcdicioiis maxims ol policy T 

84. ambiguity. Give the etymology of this word. 

93-96. When . . . Zenobia. What kind of sentence, grammatically and rhetor- 
ically ? 



264 GIBBON. 

whose sex alone could render her an object of contempt, his 
presence restored obedience to the province of Bithynia, already 95 
shaken by the arms and intrigues of Zenobia. Advancing at the 
head of his legions, he accepted the submission of Ancyra, and 
was admitted into Tyana, after an obstinate siege, by the help of 
a perfidious citizen. The generous though fierce temper of Au- 
relian abandoned the traitor to the rage of the soldiers; a super- 100 
stitious reverence induced him to treat with lenity the country- 
men of Apollonius, the philosopher. Antioch was deserted on 
his approach, till the emperor, by his salutary edicts, recalled the 
fugitives, and granted a general pardon to all who, from neces- 
sity rather than choice, had been engaged in the service of the 105 
Palmyrenian queen. The unexpected mildness of such a con- 
duct reconciled the minds of the Syrians, and, as far as the gates 
of Emesa, the wishes of the people seconded the terror of his 
arms. 

6. Zenobia would have ill deserved her reputation had she in- no 
dolently permitted the Emperor of the West to approach within 
a hundred miles of her capital. The fate of the East was decided 
in two great battles, so similar, in almost every circumstance, 
that we can scarcely distinguish them from each other, except by 
observing that the first was fought near Antioch, and the second 115 
near Emesa. In both the Queen of Palmyra animated the armies 
by her presence, and devolved the execution of her orders on 
Zabdas, who had . already signalized his military talents by the 
conquest of Egypt. The numerous forces of Zenobia consisted 
for the most part of light archers, and of heavy cavalry clothed in 120 
complete steel. The Moorish andJllyrian horse of Aurelianwere 
unable to sustain the ponderous charge of their antagonists. 
They fled in real or affected disorder, engaged the Palmyrenians 
in a laborious pursuit, harassed them by a desultory combat, and 



102. Apollonius. Apollonius Tyansus, 1 born at Tyana, in Cappadocia, 

a Pythagorean philosopher, was I about B.C. 4. 



Literary Analysis. — 108, 109. the wishes . . . arms. Express the thought 
in your own language. 

IIO-112. had she . . . capital. What kind of proposition is this.? 
121. were. Justify the use of the plural form. 



THE OVERTHROW OF ZENOBIA. 



265 



at length discomfited this impenetrable but unwieldy body of cav- 125 
airy. The light infantry, in the meantime, when they had ex- 
hausted their quivers, remaining without protection against a 
closer onset, exposed their naked sides to the swords of the le- 
gions. Aurelian had chosen these veteran troops, who were 
usually stationed on the Upper Danube, and whose valor had 130 
been severely tried in the Alemannic war. After the defeat of 
Emesa, Zenobia found it impossible to collect a third army. As 
far as the frontier of Egypt, the nations subject to her empire 
had joined the standard of the conqueror, who detached Probus, 
the bravest of his generals, to possess himself of the Egyptian 135 
provinces. Palmyra was the last resource of the widow of Ode- 
nathus. She retired within the walls of her capital, made every 
preparation for a vigorous resistance, and declared, with the in- 
trepidity of a heroine, that the last moment of her reign and of 
her life should be the same. 140 

7. Amid the barren deserts of Arabia, a few cultivated spots 
rise like islands out of the sandy ocean. Even the name of Tad- 
mor, or Palmyra, by its signification in the Syriac as well as in 
the Latin language, denoted the multitude of palm-trees which 
afforded shade and verdure to that temperate region. The air 145 
was pure, and the soil, watered by some invaluable springs, was 
capable of producing fruits as well as corn. A place possessed 
of such singular advantages, and situated at a convenient distance 
between the Gulf of Persia and the Mediterranean, was soon fre- 
quented by the caravans which conveyed to the nations of Eu- ,50 
rope a considerable part of the rich commodities of India. Pal- 
myra insensibly increased into an opulent and independent city, 
and, connecting the Roman and the Parthian monarchies by the 
mutual benefits of commerce, was suffered to observe a humble 



147. corn, wheat. 



Literary Analysis. — 128. exposed their naked sides. Explain this expres- 
sion. 

137-140. She . . . same. Analyze this sentence. 

141. barren deserts. Remark on this expi-ession. 

141-166. Amid . . . glory. Give an abstract from memory of Gibbon's de- 
scription of Palmyra. 

142. ocean. Is the word here used literally or metaphorically ? 



266 GIBBON. ^ 

neutrality, till at length, after the victories of Trajan, the little 155 
republic sank into the bosom of Rome, and flourished more than 
one hundred and fifty years in the subordinate though honorable 
rank of a colony. It was during that peaceful period, if we may 
judge from a few remaining inscriptions, that the wealthy Palmy- 
renians constructed those temples, palaces, and porticos of Gre- 160 
cian architecture whose ruins, scattered over an extent of several 
miles, have deserved the curiosity of our travellers. The eleva- 
tion of Odenathus and Zenobia appeared to reflect new splendor 
on their country, and Palmyra, for a while, stood forth the rival* 
of Rome ; but the competition was fatal, and ages of prosperity 165 
were sacrificed to a moment of glory. 

8. In his march over the sandy desert between Emesa and 
Palmyra, the Emperor Aurelian was perpetually harassed by the 
Arabs ; nor could he always defend his army, and especially his 
baggage, from those flying troops of active and daring robbers, 170 
who watched the moment of surprise, and eluded the ,':low pur- 
suit of the legions. The siege of Palmyra was an object far more 
difficult and important, and the emperor, who, with incessant vig- 
or, pressed the attacks in person, was himself wounded with a 
dart. " The Roman people," says Aurelian, in an original letter, 175 
"speak with contempt of the war which I am waging against a 
woman. They are ignorant both of the character and of the 
power of Zenobia. It is impossible to enumerate her warlike 
preparations of stones, of arrows, and of every species of missile 
weapons. Every part of the walls is provided with two or three 180 
baiistce, and artificial fires are thrown from her military engines. 
The fear of punishment has armed her with a desperate courage. 
Yet still I trust in the protecting deities of Rome, who have hith- 
erto been favorable to all my undertakings." Doubtful, however, 
of the protection of the gods, and of the event of the siege, Aure- 185 
lian judged it more prudent to offer terms of an advantageous 
capitulation : to the queen, a splendid retreat ; to the citizens. 



181. balistfe. The halista was a ma-, bow, used by the ancients in war 

chine in the form of a cross- I for throwing stones, etc. 



Literary Analysis. — 156. sank . . . Rome. Express in plain language. 
164. rival. Give the derivation of this word. 



THE OVERTHROW OF ZENOBIA. 267 

their ancient privileges. His proposals were obstinately reject- 
ed, and the refusal was accompanied with insult. 

9. The firmness of Zenobia was supported by the hope that in 190 
a very short time famine would compel the Roman army to repass 
the desert, and by the reasonable expectation that the kings of the 
East, and particularly the Persian monarch, would arm in the de- 
fence of their most natural ally. But fortune, and the persever- 
ance of Aurelian, overcame every obstacle. The death of Sapor, 195 
which happened about this time, distracted the councils of Per- 
sia, and the inconsiderable succors that attempted to relieve Pal- 
myra were easily intercepted either by the arms or the liberality 
of the emperor. From every part of Syria a regular succession 

of convoys safely arrived in the camp, which was increased by the 200 
return of Probus with his victorious troops from the conquest of 
Egypt. It was then that Zenobia resolved to fly. She mounted 
the fleetest of her dromedaries, and had already reached the 
banks of the Euphrates, about sixty miles from Palmyra, when 
she was overtaken by the pursuit of Aurelian's light horse, seized, 205 
and brought back a captive to the feet of the emperor. Her cap- 
ital soon afterwards surrendered, and was treated with unexpect- 
ed lenity. The arms, horses, and camels, with an immense treas- 
ure of gold, silver, silk, and precious stones, were all delivered to 
the conqueror, who, leaving only a garrison of six hundred archers, 210 
returned to Emesa, and employed some time in the distribution 
of rewards and punishments at the end of so memorable a war, 
which restored to the obedience of Rome those provinces that 
had renounced their allegiance since the captivity of Valerian. 

10. When the Syrian queen was brought into the presence of 215 
Aurelian, he sternly asked her how she had presumed to rise in 
arms against the emperors of Rome ! The answer of Zenobia 
was a prudent mixture of respect and firmness : " Because I dis- 
dained to consider as Roman emperors an Aureolus or a Gallie- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 194, 195. But fortune . , . obstacle. Observe that 
this proposition, which logically connects itself with the preceding proposition 
as part of a compound sentence, is made a separate sentence. 

198, 199. by the arms . . . emperor. Express in other language. 

217-221. The answer . . . sovereign. Show how Zenobia's answer was a 
"prudent mixture of respect and firmness." — Who was "Aureolus.'"' "Gal- 
lien us .'"' 



268 GIBBON. 

nus. You alone I acknowledge as my conqueror and my sov- 220 
ereign." But as female fortitude is commonly artificial, so it is 
seldom steady or consistent. The courage of Zenobia deserted 
her in the hour of trial. She trembled at the angry clamors of 
the soldiers, who called aloud for her immediate execution, forgot 
the generous despair of Cleopatra, which she had proposed as 22s 
her model, and ignominiously purchased life by the sacrifice of 
her fame and her friends. It was to their counsels, which gov- 
erned the weakness of her sex, that she imputed the guilt of her 
obstinate resistance ; it was on their heads that she directed the 
vengeance of the cruel Aurelian. The fame of Longinus, who 230 
was included among the numerous and perhaps innocent victims 
of her fear, will survive that of the queen who betrayed, or the 
tyrant who condemned him. Genius and learning were incapa- 
ble of moving a fierce, unlettered soldier, but they had served to 
elevate and harmonize the soul of Longinus. Without uttering 235 
a complaint, he calmly followed the executioner, pitying his un- 
happy mistress, and bestowing comfort on his afflicted friends. 
******** 
II. Since the foundation of Rome, no general had more nobly 
deserved a triumph than Aurelian ; nor was a triumph ever cele- 
brated with superior pride and magnificence. The pomp was 240 
opened by twenty elephants, four royal tigers, and above two hun- 
dred of the most curious animals from eveiy climate of the north, 
the east, and the south. They were followed by sixteen hundred 
gladiators, devoted to the cruel amusement of the amphitheatre. 
The wealth of Asia, the arms and ensigns of so many conquered 245 
nations, and the magnificent plate and wardrobe of the Syrian 
queen, were disposed in exact symmetry or artful disorder. The 
ambassadors of the most remote parts of the earth, of ^Ethiopia, 
Arabia, Persia, Bactriana, India, and China, all remarkable by 
their rich or singular dresses, displayed the fame and power 250 
of the Roman emperor, who exposed likewise to the public 
view the presents that he had received, and particularly a great 
number of crowns of gold, the offerings of grateful cities. The 
victories of Aurelian were attested by the long train of captives 



Literary Analysis. — 221, 222. But . . . consistent. Vary the phraseology. 
224, 225. forgot . . . Cleopatra. Explain the historical allusion. 



THE OVERTHROW OF ZENOBIA. 



269 



who reluctantly attended his triumph — Goths, Vandals, Sarma-ass 
tians, Alemanni, Franks, Gauls, Syrians, and Egyptians. Each 
people was distinguished by its peculiar inscription, and the title 
of Amazons was bestowed on ten martial heroines of the Gothic 
nation who had been taken in arms. But every eye, disregard- 
ing the crowd of captives, was fixed on the Emperor Tetricus 260 
and the Queen of the East. The former, as well as his son, 
whom he had created Augustus, was dressed in Gallic trousers, 
a saffron tunic, and a robe of purple. The beauteous figure of 
Zenobia was confined by fetters of gold ; a slave supported the 
gold chain which encircled her neck, and she almost fainted 265 
under the intolerable weight of jewels. She preceded on foot 
the magnificent chariot, in which she once hoped to enter the 
gates of Rome. It was followed by two other chariots, still 
more sumptuous, of Odenathus and of the Persian monarch. 
The triumphal car of Aurelian (it had formerly been used by a 270 
Gothic king) was drawn, on this memorable occasion, either by 
four stags or by four elephants. The most illustrious of the 
senate, the people, and the army closed the solemn procession. 
Unfeigned joy, wonder, and gratitude swelled the acclamations 
of the multitude ; but the satisfaction of the senate was clouded 27s 
by the appearance of Tetricus ; nor could they suppress a rising 
murmur, that the haughty emperor should thus expose to public 
ignominy the person of a Roman and a magistrate. 

12. But, however in the treatment of his unfortunate rivals 
Aurelian might indulge his pride, he behaved towards them with 2S0 
a generous clemency, which was seldom exercised by the ancient 
conquerors. Princes who, without success, had defended their 
throne or freedom, were frequently strangled in prison, as soon 
as the triumphal pomp ascended the Capitol. These usurpers, 
whom their defeat had convicted of the crime of treason, were 285 
permitted to spend their lives in affluence and honorable repose. 
The emperor presented Zenobia with an elegant villa at Tibur, 
or Tivoli, about twenty miles from the capital ; the Syrian queen 
insensibly sunk into a Roman matron, her daughters married 
into noble families, and her race was not yet extinct in the fifth 290 
century, 

260. Tetricus. See note to line 2. 



XVII. 

ROBERT BURNS. 

1759-1796. 





CHARACTERIZATION BY THOMAS CARLYLE. 

I . We love Burns, and we pity him ; and love and pity are 
prone to magnify. Criticism, it is sometimes thought, should be 
a cold business : we are not so sure of this ; but, at all events, 
our concern with Burns is not exclusivelv that of critics. True 



CARLYLE'S CHARACTERIZATION OF BURNS. 



271 



and genial as his poetry must appear, it is not chiefly as a poet, 
but as a man, that he interests and affects us. He was often ad- 
vised to write a tragedy : time and means were not lent him for 
this ; but through life he enacted a tragedy, and one of the deep- 
est. We question whether the world has since witnessed so ut- 
terly sad a scene ; whether Napoleon himself, left to brawl with 
Sir Hudson Lowe, and perish on his rock " amid the melancholy 
main," presented to the reflecting mind such a " spectacle of pity 
and fear " as did this intrinsically nobler, gentler, and perhaps 
greater soul, wasting itself away in a hopeless struggle with base 
entanglements, which coiled closer and closer around him, till 
only death opened him an outlet. 

2. Conquerors are a race with whom the world could well dis- 
pense. Nor can the hard intellect, the unsympathizing loftiness, 
and high but selfish enthusiasm of such persons inspire us, in 
general, with any affection : at best it may excite amazement ; 
and their fall, like that of a pyramid, will be beheld with a cer- 
tain sadness and awe. But a true poet, a man in whose heart 
resides some effluence of wisdom, some tone of the " eternal 
melodies," is the most precious gift that can be bestowed on a 
generation. We see in him a freer, purer development of what- 
ever is noblest in ourselves ; his life is a rich lesson to us, and 
we mourn his death as that of a benefactor who loved and 
taught us. 

3. Such a gift had Nature in her bounty bestowed on us in 
Robert Burns ; but with queen-like indifference she cast it from 
her hand, like a thing of no moment, and it was defaced and 
torn asunder, as an idle bauble, before we recognized it. To the 
ill-starred Burns was given the power of making man's life more 
venerable, but that of wisely guiding his own was not given. 
Destiny, — for so, in our ignorance, we must speak, — his faults, the 
faults of others, proved too hard for him ; and that spirit which 
might have soared, could it but have walked, soon sank to the 
dust, its glorious faculties trodden under foot in the blossom, 
and died, we may almost say, without ever having lived. 

4. And so kind and warm a soul — so full of inborn riches, of 
love to all living and lifeless things ! How his heart flows out 
in sympathy over universal nature, and in her bleakest prov- 
inces discerns a beauty and a meaning! The "daisy" falls not 



272 



BURNS. 



unheeded under his ploughshare ; nor the ruined nest of that 
" wee, cowering, timorous beastie," cast forth, after all its prov- 
ident pains, to " thole the sleety dribble, and cranreuch cauld." 
The " hoar visage " of Winter delights him. He dwells with a 
sad and oft-returning fondness in these scenes of solemn deso- 
lation : but the voice of the tempest becomes an anthem to his 
ears ; he loves to walk in the sounding woods, for " it raises his 
thoughts to Hhii that lualketh on the wings of the windy A true 
poet-soul, for it needs but to be struck, and the sound it yields 
will be music ! 

5. But observe him chiefly, as he mingles with his brother 
men. What warm, all-comprehending, fellow-feeling ! what trust- 
ful, boundless love ! what generous exaggeration of the object 
loved ! His rustic friend, his nut-brown maiden, are no longer 
mean and homely, but a hero and a queen, whom he prizes as 
the paragons of earth. The rough scenes of Scottish life, not 
seen by him in any Arcadian illusion, but in the rude contradic- 
tion, in the smoke and soil of a too harsh reality, are still lovely 
to him. Poverty is indeed his companion, but Love also, and 
Courage ; the simple feelings, the worth, the nobleness, that 
dwell under the straw roof, are dear and venerable to his heart : 
and thus over the lowest provinces of man's existence he pours 
the glory of his own soul ; and they rise, in shadow and sun- 
shine, softened and brightened into a beauty which other eyes 
discern not in the highest. 

6. And so did our Peasant show himself among us : " a soul 
like an ^olian harp, in whose strings the vulgar wind, as it passed 
through them, changed itself into articulate melody." And this 
was he for whom the world found no fitter business than quar- 
relling with smugglers and vintners, computing excise dues upon 
tallow, and gauging ale-barrels ! In such toils was that mighty 
spirit sorrowfully wasted ; and a hundred years may pass on be- 
fore another such is given us to waste. 

7. With our readers in general, with men of right feeling any- 
where, we are not required to plead for Burns. In pitying ad- 
miration, he lies enshrined in all our hearts, in a far nobler 
mausoleum than that one of marble. Neither will his Works, 
even as they are, pass away from the memory of men. While 
the Shakespeares and Miltons roll on like mighty rivers through 



I 



FITZ-GREENE HALLECK'S TRIBUTE TO BURNS. 



273 



the country of Thought, bearing fleets of traffickers and assidu- 
ous pearl-fishers on their waves, this little Valclusa Fountain 
will also arrest our eye ; for this also is of Nature's own and 
most cunning workmanship, bursts from the depths of the earth, 
with a full gushing current, into the light of day ; and often will 
the traveller turn aside to drink of its clear waters, and muse 
among its rocks and pines ! 



FITZ-GREENE HALLECK'S TRIBUTE TO BURNS. 

1. There have been loftier themes than his. 

And longer scrolls, and louder lyres. 
And lays lit up with Poesy's 
Purer and holier fires : 

2. Yet read the names that know not death; 

Few nobler ones than Burns are there ; 
And few have won a greener wreath 
Than that which binds his hair. 

3. His is that language of the heart 

In which the answering heart would speak. 
Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start. 
Or the smile light the cheek ; 

4. And his that music to whose tone 

The common pulse of man keeps time. 
In cot or castle's mirth or moan. 
In cold or sunny clime. 

5. And who hath heard his song, nor knelt 

Before its spell with willing knee. 
And listened, and believed, and felt. 
The poet's mastery ? 

6. O'er the mind's sea, in calm and storm, 

O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers. 
O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm. 
O'er Reason's dark, cold hours ; 
18 



274 



BURNS. 

7. On fields where brave men " die or do," 

In halls where rings the banquet's mirth, 
Where mourners weep, where lovers woo. 
From throne to cottage hearth ? 

8. What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed, 

What wild vows falter on the tongue, 
When " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," 
Or " Auld Lang Syne," is sung ! 

9. Pure hopes, that lift the soul above, 

Come with his " Cotter's " hymn of praise, 
And dreams of youth, and truth, and love 
With "Logan's" banks and braes. 

10. And when he breathes his master-lay 

Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall. 
All passions in our frames of clay 
Come thronging at his call. 

11. Imagination's world of air. 

And our own world, its gloom and glee, 
Wit, pathos, poetry, are there. 
And death's sublimity. 

12. And Burns — though brief the race he ran, 

Though rough and dark the path he trod — 
Lived, died, in form and soul a Man, 
The image of his God. 

13. Through care, and pain, and want, and woe, 

With wounds that only death could heal, 
Tortures the poor alone can know. 
The proud alone can feel ; 

14. He kept his honesty and truth. 

His independent tongue and pen, 
And moved in manhood as in youth, 
Pride of his fellow-men. 

15. Praise to the bard ! his words are driven. 

Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown. 
Where'er beneath the sky of heaven. 
The birds of fame have flown. 



FITZ-GREENE HALLECK'S TRIBUTE TO BURNS. 

i6. Praise to the man ! a nation stood 
Beside his coffin with wet eyes, — 
Her brave, her beautiful, her good, — 
As when a loved one dies. 

17. Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines. 

Shrines to no code or creed confined — 
The Delphian vales, the Palestines, 
The Meccas, of the mind. 

18. Sages, with Wisdom's garland wreathed. 

Crowned kings, and mitred priests of power, 
And warriors with their bright swords sheathed, 
The mightiest of the hour • 

19. And lowlier names, whose humble home 

Is lit by Fortune's dimmer star. 
Are there — o'er wave and mountain come. 
From countries near and far ; 

20. Pilgrims, whose wandering feet have pressed 

The Switzer's snow, the Arab's sand, 
Or trod the piled leaves of the West, 
My own green forest land. 

21. All ask the cottage of his birth, 

Gaze on the scenes he loved and sung. 
And gather feelings not of earth 
His fields and streams among. 

22. They linger by the Boon's low trees, 

And pastoral Nith, and wooded Ayr, 
And round thy sepulchres, Dumfries ! 
The poet's tomb is there. 

23. But what to them the sculptor's art, 

His funeral columns, wreaths, and urns ? 
Wear they not graven on the heart 
The name of Robert Burns ? 



275 



276 



BURNS. 



I.— THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



[Introduction. — The Cotter's^ Saturday Night was written by Burns in 
1785 (his twenty-sixth year). It was dedicated to his warm friend Robert 
Aiken, a legal practitioner in the town of Ayr, Scotland, and at once attained 
a popularity which it still holds, not only in the bard's native land, but where- 
ever the English language is spoken. "It is easy," says Hales, "to see in 
this piece the influence of Gray, of Goldsmith, and of Pope ; but easier still to 
observe the freshness and originality of it. There are few, if any, interiors in 
our literature that rival the one here given for truthfulness, and sincere but 
not exaggerated sentiment." 

The poem is written partly in Scottish (in the dialect of Ayrshire, Burns's 
birthplace) and partly in English — the more homely passages being in the 
poet's vernacular. The metre is the Spenserian stanza of nine lines.] 

I. My loved, my honored, much respected friend ! 

No mercenary * bard his homage pays ; 

With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end : 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise. 

To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequestered scene ; 

The native feelings strong, the guileless ways ; 
What Aiken in a cottage would have been ; 
Ah ! though his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween ! * 



Notes. — Line l. My . . . friend. Robert I 6. lowly train. See Deserted Villa^ 

Aiken : see Introduction. | page 223, line 252. 

4. meed, reward. I 9. ween, deem. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-9. My . . . ween! Is the diction of this stanza main- 
ly English or Scottish t Give the reason for your opinion. 
2. No mercenary bard. Substitute a synonymous expression. 
4. Supply the omitted verb in this line. 

6. The . . . scene. Compare with the line in Gray's Elegy, 

"The short and simple annals of the poor," 

and change the line into prose diction. 

7. The native feelings strong. Remark on the order of words. 

' Cotter, "one who inhabits a cot or cottage, dependent on a farm." 



I 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



277 



2. November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh;* 

The short'ning winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh : 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repose : 

The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes, — 
This night his weekly moil* is at an end, — 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary, o'er the moor, his course does hameward bend. 

3. At length his lonely cot appears in view. 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee things, toddlin', stacher through 

To meet their dad, wi' fiichterin' noise and glee. 

His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily. 
His clean hearthstane, his thriftie wifie's smile, 

The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile. 
And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil. 



10. wi' angry sugh: that is, with angry, 
sough, or moaning sound. 

12. beasts, cattle. — frae = from. — pleugh 

= plough. 

13. craws — crows. 

17. the morn, on the morrow, next day. 



19. cot= cottage. 

21. wee, little. — stacher, stagger. — tod- 

dlin', walking with short steps. 

22. flichterin', fluttering. 

23. ingle, fireplace. 
26. liiaugh, anxiety. 



Literary Analysis.— 10-18. Xoveniber bend. Observe the transition 

from the Anglicism of the first stanza to the Scotticism of the second stanza. 
Select the Scottish words, or forms of words. 

12, 13. What is the grammatical construction of these two lines? 

15. night. What is the grammatical construction of "night?" 

17. Hoping. Of what word, expressed or understood, is this an adjunct ? 

18. What is the subject of " does bend ?" — Compare Gray's Elegy, page 196, 
line 3, of this book. 

21, 22. Til' expectant . . . glee. Express the thought in English prose. 
24. What diminutival form occurs in this line ? 

26, 27. Does . . . makes. Can you justify the use of the singular number in 
these verbs ? 



278 



BURNS. 



4. Belyve, the elder bairns come drapping in, 
At service out amang the farmers roun' : 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
A cannie errand to a neibor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 
In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e. 

Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 
Or de'posite her sair-worn penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 



30 



5. Wi' joy unfeigned, brothers and sisters meet. 

And each for other's welfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift-winged, unnoticed fleet ; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears. 

The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years; 
Anticipation forward points the view : 

The mother, wi' her needle an' her shears. 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new ; 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 

6. Their master's and their mistress's command 

The younkers a' are warne'd to obey. 
An' mind their labors wi' an eydent hand. 
An' ne'er, though out o' sight, to jauk or play 



28. Belj'Te, by-and-by. — bairns, chil- 
dren. 

30. ca' = drive (literally call). — tentie 

rin = run heedfully, attentively. 

31. cannie, careful. 

34. braw, handsome. 

35. sair-worn, dearly earned. — penny-fee, 

wages paid in money. 



38. spiers, mquires. 

40. uncos = news. 

44. Gars, makes, compels. — claes, 

clothes. — amaist, almost. — 

weel's = well as. 

47. younkers, youngsters. 

48. eydent, diligent. 

49. jauk = trifle. 



Literary Analysis. — 28-36. State in your own language the substance of 
stanza 4. 

35. Observe the accentuation. 

41. eye their hopeful years. What is the figure of speech.^ (See Def. 29.) 

42. What instance of personification is there in this line ? 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 

"■ An' oh, be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 
An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night ! 

Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 
Implore His counsel and assisting might : 
They never sought in vain that sought the Lord aright !" 

7. But hark ! a rap conies gently to the door; 
Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad cam o'er the moor 
To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, an' flush her cheek; 

Wi' heart-struck, anxious care, inquires his name, 
While Jenny hafiiins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleased the mother hears its nae wild, worthless rake. 



279 



8. Wi' kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben — 
A strappin' youth ; he taks the mother's eye ; 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye.* 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 
But, blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 

The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' and sae grave ; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn's respected like the lave. 



65 



51. duty, prayers. 

52. gang = go. 
56. wha = who. 

58. conroy her, see her. 

62. hafflins (merely half), partly. 



64. ben, in : that is, into the room 

(kitchen and parlor). 
67. cracks, talks. — kye, cows. 
69. blate, bashful ; laithfti', hesitating. 
72. the lave, the rest. 



Literary Analysis. — 50. An' oh. Observe here the transition from the 
direct to the oblique form of narration. 

54. They • . • aright. Analyze this line. 

56. wha . . . same. What kind of clause, and adjunct to what .-' 

59. conscious flame. Explain. 

65. taks the mother's eye. Explain. — Why "eye" in this line and "e'e" in 
60? 

67. kye. Give an allied old English form of the plural oi cow. 



28o BURNS. 

9. O, happy love ! — where love like this is found ! 
O heart-felt raptures ! — bliss beyond compare ! 
I've paced much this weary, mortal round, 
And sage experience bids me this declare — 
" If heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair 
In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the evening gale. 

10. Is there in human form, that bears a heart, 

A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth, 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art, 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth ? 

Curse on his perjured arts ! dissembling smooth ! 
Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled ? 

Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruined maid, and their distraction wild ? 

11. But now the supper crowns their simple board, 

The halesome parritch, chief of Scotia's food ; 
The soupe their only hawkie does afford. 

That 'yont the hallan snugly chows her cood : 



88. ruth, pity, tenderness. 

92. parritch, porridge, oatmeal - pud- 

ding. 

93. soupe, here = milk. — hawkie, a pet 



name for a cow (properly, one 
with a white face). 
94. hallan, a screen or partition between 
the fireplace and the door. 



Literary Analysis. — 73-81. What reason can you give for the transition 
to the English diction in stanza 9, continued also in stanza 10 .'' 

78. cordial. Is the word here used literally or figuratively ? — melancholy vale. 
Explain. 

82. Is there. Supply the ellipsis. 

89. Points. What is the subject of this verb.? 

94. That. What is the antecedent .'' 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



281 



The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 
To grace the lad, her weel-hained kebbuck fell, 

And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it guid ; 
The frugal wifie, garrulous, will tell 
How 'was a towmond auld, sin' lint was i' the bell. 

12. The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious face, 

They round the ingle form a circle wide. 
The sire turns o'er, with patriarchal grace, 

The big ha' Bible, ance his father's pride ; 

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 
His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare; 

Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide. 
He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And " Let us worship God !" he says, with solemn air. 

13. They chant their artless notes in simple guise; 

They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim: 
Perhaps Dundee's wild-warbling measures rise, 
Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name. 



96. ireel-hained, carefully kept. — keb- 
buck, cheese. — fell, tasty. 

99. towmond, twelvemonth. — sin' lint 
was i' the bell =• since flax was in 
flower. (The meaning is that 
the cheese was a year old last 
flax-blossoming.) 



103. ha' Bible, family Bible. 

105. lyart, mixed gray.— haffets, tern 

pies. 
107. wales, chooses. 
111-113. Dundee's.. 

Elgin, well 

psalm-tunes, 



measures, Martyrs, 

known Scottish 



Literary Analysis.— 95. complimental. Remark on the form of the word. 
96. weel-hained kebbuck fell. Remark on the order of the adjectives. 
100. wi' serious face. To what is this an adjunct ? 

106, 107. Those strains . . . care. Transpose into the prose order, supplying 
the ellipsis. 

109. guise. What does the word mean here.'' 
no. by . . . aim. Grammatical construction .' 



282 BURNS. 

Or noble Elgin beets the heavenward flame, 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : 

Compared with these, Italian trills are tame ; us 

The tickled ear no heart-felt raptures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

14. The priest-like father reads the sacred page — 

How Abram was the friend of God on high ; 
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage '^o 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny ; 

Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 
Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 

Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 
Or rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire ; ^25 

Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. 

15. Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme — 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed ; 
How He who bore in heaven the second name 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 13° 

How his first followers and servants sped, 
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land ; 

How he, who lone in Patmos banished, 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand. 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounced by Heaven's 135 
command. 



113. beets the . . . flame = supplies the flame with fuel. 



Literary Analysis. — 113. beets the heaveinvard flame. What is the figure 

of speech ? (See Def. 20.) 

115. Italian trills are tame. What do you think of Burns's musical judg- 
ment .'' 

1 16. raise. Query as to the grammar. 

1 18- 126. In stanza 14, point out felicitous combinations of words. 

127. theme. Meaning of the word here.'' 

133. How he, who, etc. To whom is the reference .? 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 



283 



16. Then, kneeling down to heaven's eternal King, 

The saint, the father, and the husband prays 
(Hope " springs exulting on triumphant wing") 

That thus they all shall meet in future days ; 

There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear; 

Together hymning their Creator's praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. 

17. Compared with this, how poor religion's pride. 

In all the pomp of method and of art. 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's every grace, except the heart ! 

The power incensed the pageant will desert, 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 

But, haply, in some cottage far apart. 
May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul, 
And in His book of life the inmates poor enroll. 

18. Then homeward all take off their several way: 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 
The parent pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request. 

That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, 
And decks the lily fair in flowery pride. 

Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best. 
For them and for their little ones provide, 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside. 



144. society, social enjoyment. 
151. stole, a long narrow scarf with 
fringed edges. 



155. take off, depart. 
157. secret homage : that is, private de- 
votions. 



Literary Analysis. — 138. prays. Justify the use of the singular number 
here. 

145. sphere. What is meant by " sphere " here ? 
146-154. Explain stanza 17. 

155. way. Why does Burns use the singular form ? 
159. clam'rous nest. Explain. 



284 BURNS. 

19. From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, 

That makes her loved at home, revered abroad: 165 

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 

"An honest man's the noblest work of God;" 

And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind; 

What is a lordling's pomp ? — a cumbrous load, 17° 

Disguising oft the wretch of humankind, 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! 

20. O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 17s 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! 

And oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
From luxury's contagion, weak and vile ! 

Then, howe'er crowns and coronets be rent, 
A virtuous populace may rise the while, 180 

And stand a wall of fire around their much-loved isle. 

21.0 Thou ! who poured the patriotic tide 

That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart; 
Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic pride. 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 185 

(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art. 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !) 

Oh, never, never, Scotia's realm desert ; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot bard, 
In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard. igo 



166. See Goldsmith's Deserted Village, j 167. See Pope's Essay on Man (Epis- 
page 215, line 53, of this book, i tie IV., line 247). 



Literary Analysis. — 165. That. What is the antecedent? 

169. cottage . . . palace. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 29.) 

179. crowns and coronets. What is the figure of speech ? 

182. poured the patriotic tide. What is the figure of speech.'' (See Def. 20.) 

183. Wallace's undaunted heart. Who was "Wallace?" Did Burns com- 
memorate him in any other poem ? 

184 Who. What is the antecedent? 
185. the second glorious part. Explain. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 285 

II.— TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786. 

1. Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem. 
To spare thee now is past my power, 
Thou bonnie gem. 

2. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet ! 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet 

Wi' spreckled breast, 
When upward springing, biythe to greet 
The purpling east. 

3. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm, 
. Scarce reared above the parent earth 
Thy tender form. 

4. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield. 
High sheltering woods an' wa's maun shield; 
But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the histie stibble-field. 
Unseen, alane. 

5. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, 



Notes. — 3. maun, must. — stoure, dust. 
9. weet, wet. 
15. glinted, glanced, peeped. 



20. wa's, walls. 

21. bield, shelter. 

23. Adorns = adorn'st. — histie, diy. 



286 BURNS. 

Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise : 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 

6. Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betrayed, 

And guileless trust. 
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid 
Low i' the dust. 

7. Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, ■ 

And whelm him o'er ! 

8. Such fate to suffering worth is given, 
Who long with wants and woes has striven. 
By human pride or cunning driven 

To misery's brink. 

Till, wrenched of every stay but Heaven, 

He, ruined, sink ! 

9. Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 

Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom. 



27. lifts = lift'st. 39. card, compass. 



FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT. 



287 



III.— FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT. 

1. Is there for honest poverty 

That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward slave, we pass him by, 
We dare be poor for a that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
The man 's the gowd for a' that. 

2. What though on hamely fare we dine. 

Wear hoddin-grey, and a' that ; 
Gie folks their silks, and knaves their wine, 
A man 's a man for a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor, 
Is king o' men for a' that. 

3. Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that ; 
Though hundreds worship at his word, 
He 's but a coof for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His riband, star, and a' that; 
The man of independent mind. 
He looks and laughs at a' that. 

4. A prince can mak' a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that; 
But an honest man 's aboon his might, 
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that ! 



Notes. — 8. gowd, gold. 

10. hoddin-grey,woollen cloth ofa coarse 

quality. 

11. Gie = give. 



17. birkie, 

low. 
20. coof, a blockhead 
28. fa' that, try that. 



forward, conceited fel- 



BURNS. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

Their dignities, and a' that; 

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 
Are higlier ranks than a' tliat. 

Then let us pray tliat come it may. 

As come it will, for a' that, 
That sense and worth o'er a' the earth, 
May bear the gree, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's coming yet, for a' that, 
That man to man, the warl' o'er. 
Shall brothers be for a' that. 



36. bear the gree, be victorious. 



XVIII. 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 

1770-1850. 




^/^ ^^i^<y7>r^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY LOWELL.' 

I. It cannot be denied that in Wordsworth the very highest 
powers of the poetic mind were associated with a certain ten- 
dency to the diffuse and commonplace. It is in the understand- 

' From Among My Books, by James Russell Lowell. 
19 



2QO WORDSWORTH. 

ing (always prosaic) that the great golden veins of his imagina- 
tion are imbedded. He wrote too much to write always well ; 
for it is not a great Xerxes' army of words, but a compact Greek 
ten thousand, that march safely down to posterity. He set tasks 
to his divine faculty, which is much the same as trying to make 
Jove's eagle do the service of a clucking hen. Throughout 
"The Prelude" and "The Excursion" he seems striving to bind 
the wizard Imagination with the sand-ropes of dry disquisition, 
and to have forgotten the potent spell-word which would make 
the particles cohere. There is an arnaceous quality in the style 
which makes progress wearisome. Yet with what splendors, as of 
mountain sunsets, are we rewarded ! what golden rounds of verse 
do we not see stretching heavenward with angels ascending and 
descending ! what haunting harmonies hover around us, deep and 
eternal, like the undying baritone of the sea ! and if we are com- 
pelled to fare through sand and desert wildernesses, how often 
do we not hear airy shapes that syllable our names with a start- 
ling personal appeal to our highest consciousness and our no- 
blest aspiration, such as we wait for in vain in any other poet ! 

2. Wordsworth's mind had not that reach and elemental 
movement of Milton's, which, like the trade-wind, gathered to it- 
self thoughts and images, like stately fleets, from every quarter ; 
some deep with silks and spicery, some brooding over the silent 
thunders of their battailous armaments, but all swept forward in 
their destined track, over the long billows of his verse, every 
inch of canvas strained by the unifying breath of their common 
epic impulse. It was an organ that Milton mastered, mighty in 
compass, capable equally of the tempest's ardors or the slim 
delicacy of the flute ; and sometimes it bursts forth in great 
crashes through his prose, as if he touched it for solace in the 
intervals of his toil. If Wordsworth sometimes puts the trum- 
pet to his lips, yet he lays it aside soon and willingly for his ap- 
propriate instrument, the pastoral reed. And it is not one that 
grew by any vulgar stream, but that which Apollo breathed 
through, tending the flocks of Admetus, — that which Pan en- 
dowed with every melody of the visible universe, — so that ever 
and anon, amid the notes of human joy or sorrow, there comes 
suddenly a deeper and almost awful tone, thrilling us into dim 
consciousness of forgotten divinity. 



LOWELL'S CHARACTERIZATION OF WORDSWORTH. 291 

3. None of our great poets can be called popular in any exact 
sense of the word, for the highest poetry deals with thoughts 
and emotions which inhabit, like rarest sea-mosses, the doubtful 
limits of that shore between our abiding divine and our fluctu- 
ating human nature, rooted in the one, but living in the other, 
seldom laid bare and otherwise visible only at exceptional mo- 
ments of entire calm and clearness. Of no other poet, except 
Shakespeare, have so many phrases become household words as 
of Wordsworth. If Pope has made current more epigrams of 
worldly wisdom, to Wordsworth belongs the nobler praise of 
having defined for us, and given us for a daily possession, those 
faint and vague suggestions of other world lines, of whose gentle 
ministry with our baser nature the hurry and bustle of life 
scarcely ever allowed us to be conscious. He has won for him- 
self a secure immortality by the depth of intuition which makes 
only the best minds at their best hours worthy, or indeed capa- 
ble, of his companionship, and by a homely sincerity of human 
sympathy which reaches the humblest heart. Our language 
owes him gratitude for the habitual purity and abstinence of his 
style, and we who speak it, for having emboldened us to take 
delight in simple things, and to trust ourselves to our own in- 
stincts. And he hath his reward. It needs not to bid 

" Renowned Chaucer lie a thought more nigh 
To rare Beaumond, and learned Beaumond lie 
A little nearer Spenser ;" 

for there is no fear of crowding in that little society with whom 
he is now enrolled as fifth in the succession of the great Eng- 
lish poets. 



2<)1 



WORDSWORTH. 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS 
OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. 

The child is father of the man ; 
And I could wish my days to be 
Bound each to each by natural piety. 

[Introduction. — This noble ode, characterized by Emerson as the " high- 
water mark of English thought in the 19th century," was composed partly in 
1803 and partly in 1806. The mood of mind out of which it grew is set forth 
by Wordsworth himself in an explanatory piece, herewith appended. (See 
page 300.) It may be noted that the word "immortality" in the title is used 
in a larger sense than its ordinary meaning ; it implies not only deathlessness, 
but etemality of existence ; that is, eternal pre-existence as well as eternal fu- 
hire existence.] 

I. 

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. 
The earth, and every common sight, 
To me did seem 

Apparelled* in celestial light, 
The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore ;* 

Turn wheresoe'er I may. 

By night or day, 
The thino;s which I have seen I now can see no more. 



Notes. — Line 6. of yore. Not in the 

sense of olden times, but as re- 
lated to the poet's own experi- 



ence as expressed in the first 
line — " There was a time when 
meadow, grove," etc. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-5. Analyze the first sentence. 
4. What is the primitive meaning of " Apparelled ?" 

1-9. Show the antithesis in the first stanza. — Compare the first stanza with 
this from Shelley : 

" Out of the day and night 
A joy has taken flight : 

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
Move my faint breast with grief, but with delight 
No more — O never more!" 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 



293 



II. 

The rainbow comes and goes, 

And lovely is the rose. 

The moon doth with delight 
Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 

Waters on a starry night 

Are beautiful and fair ; 
The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, 
That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. 



III. 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. 
And while the young lambs bound 
As to the tabor's sound, 
To me alone there came a thought of grief : 
A timely utterance gave that thought relief. 

And I again am strong : 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep ; 
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong ; 
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity. 



J I. tabor, a small drum. 

!2. To me alone there came = to me 

there came only. 
25. The cataracts, "Wordsworth has in 
his mind the many falls of the 
beautiful English " Lake coun- 
try," where he lived. 



28. the fields of sleep : that is, " the yet 
reposeful, slumbering country 
side. It is early morning, and 
the land is still, as it were, rest- 
ing." 

31. jollity. See V Allegro, page 50, 
line 18, of this book. 



Literary Analysis. — 10-18. Express briefly (and in general terms) the 
idea contained in stanza ii. 

26. Xo more . . . wrong. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) — Ex- 
press the thought in plainer language. 

30, 31. Land . . . jollity. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 22.) 



294 



WORDSWORTH. 

And with heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou child of joy, 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shout, thou happy 
Shepherd boy ! 

IV. 
Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye to each other make, I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ;* 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal,* . 
The fulness of your bliss I feel — I feel it all. 
Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
While the Earth herself is adorning 

This sweet May morning, 
And the children are pulling, 

On every side. 
In a thousand valleys far and wide. 
Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm : — 
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
— But there's a tree, of many one, 
A single field which I have looked upon, 
Both of them speak of something that is gone : 
The pansy * at my feet 
Doth the same tale repeat : 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 



37. Te blessed creatures : that is, the ob- 
jects of nature, animate and in- 
animate, mentioned in the pre- 
ceding stanza. 

39. jubilee, shout of joy. 



41. coronal, a crown or garland (as at 
banquets in the days of Greece 
and Rome). 

57- visionary = vision-like. 

58. dream. See line 5. 



Literary Analysis. — 32. with heart of May. Vary the phraseology. 
39, 41, 55. Give the etymology of "jubilee ;" " coronal ;" " pansy." 
44, 49. What is the grammatical construction of " herself.'" Of " flowers .'"' 
58. is . . . dream? How do you justify " is " and " it " where the reference 
is to " the glory and the dream ?" 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 



295 



V. 
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
The soul that rises with us — our life's star — 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And Cometh from afar, 

Not in entire forgetfulness, 

And not in utter nakedness, 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home. 
Heaven lies about us in our infancy ; 
Shades of the prison-house begin to close 

Upon the growing boy ; 
But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, 

He sees it in his joy ; 
The youth who daily farther from the east 

Must travel still is nature's priest. 

And by the vision splendid 

Is on his way attended ; 
At length the man perceives it die away, 
And fade into the light of common day. 



59. a forgetting: that is,' a forgetting of 
what took place in the ante- 
natal life. The doctrine of pre- 
existence was held by Plato and 



Pythagoras (as well as by the 
seers of Egypt and India). Per- 
haps to every fine soul the 
thought comes in flashes. 



Literary Analysis. — 59. Our birth, etc. The transition of thought here 
is, perhaps, somewhat abrupt. There was an interval of more than two years 
between the writing of stanza iv. and that of stanza v. — Stanza v. may be 
committed to memory. 

63-66. forgetfulness . . . our home. Compare the poet Campbell's remark : 
"Children have so recently come out of the hands of their Creator, that they 
have not had time to lose the impress of their divine origin." 

67-77. With the thought in these lines compare the exquisitely tender verses 
01 rlOOCl : " J remember, I remember, 

The fir-trees dark and high ; 
I used to think their slender tops 
Were close against the sky. 
" It was a childish ignorance, 
But now 'tis little joy 
To know I'' m farther off from heaven 
Than when I was a boy.' ' 

72-75. The youth . . . attended. Transpose into the prose order. 



296 



WORDSWORTH: 



VI. 

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; 

Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, 

And, even with something of a mother's mind, 
And no unworthy aim. 
The homely nurse doth all she can 

To make her foster-child, her inmate man. 
Forget the glories he hath known, 

And that imperial palace whence he came. 

VII. 

Behold the child among his new-born blisses — 

A six years' darling of a pigmy* size ! 

See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 

Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, 

With light upon him from his father's eyes ! 

See, at his feet, some little plan or chart. 

Some fragment from his dream of human life. 

Shaped by himself with newly learned art — 

A wedding or a festival, a mourning or a funeral — 

And this hath now his heart. 
And unto this he frames his song. 

Then will he fit his tongue 
To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 
But it will not be long 

Ere this be thrown aside. 

And with new joy and pride 
The little actor cons another part — 



86, 87. the child ... A six years' darling'. 

Though the idea applies to 
childhood in general, Words- 



worth had in his mind a par- 
ticular child — Hartley Cole- 
ridsre. 



Literary Analysis. — 78-85. Express in your own words the idea 
stanza vi. 

78. fills her lap. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) 

82, 83. homely nurse . . . foster-child. Explain these expressions. 

89. Fretted. What is the meaning of the word as here used ? 

102. The little actor cons, etc. Is the language here literal or figurative ? 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 

Filling from time to time his "humorous stage " 
With all the persons, down to palsied age, 
That life brings with her in her equipage ; 
As if his whole vocation were endless imitation. 

VIII. 

Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 

Thy soul's immensity ! 
Thou best- philosopher, who yet dost keep 
Thy heritage ! thou eye among the blind. 
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep 
Haunted forever by the eternal mind — 
Mighty prophet ! Seer blest. 
On whom those truths do rest. 
Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ! 
Thou over whom thy immortality 
Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, 
A presence Avhich is not to be put by ! 
Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, 
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
The years to bring the inevitable yoke. 
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife 1 
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight. 
And custom lie upon thee with a weight 
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! 



297 



104. persons = "LdX. persona. 



Literary Analysis. — 103. "humorous stage." From what author is this 
expression quoted ? 

107. Thou. See note to lines 86, 87. 

107, 108. whose . . . immensity. Express the thought in your own words. 

109, no. who yet . . . heritage. Explain by reference to line 67. 

no. thou eye. What is the figure of speech? 

116. This line was omitted by the author in a later edition. It is wanted 
for the rhyme's sake. 

125. thy soul shall have, etc. What is the tigure of speech ? 

126. custom. Explain the word as here used. 



298 



WORDSWORTH. 

IX. 

O joy ! that in our embers 
Is something that doth live, 
That nature yet remembers 
What was so fugitive. 
The thought of our past years in me doth breed 
Perpetual benediction : not, indeed, 
For that which is most worthy to be blest. 
Delight and liberty, the simple creed 
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, 
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast. 
Not for these I raise 
The song of thanks and praise ; 
But for those obstinate questionings 
Of sense and outward things, 
Fallings from us, vanishings ; 
Blank misgivings of a creature 
Moving about in worlds not realized, 
High instincts before which our mortal nature 
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised ! 
But for those first affections. 
Those shadowy recollections. 
Which, be they what they may. 
Are yet the fountain light of all our day. 
Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; 

Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make 
Our noisy years seem moments in the being 
Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake, 

To perish never ; 
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, 



Literary Analysis. — 140. obstinate questionings. See Wordsworth's note, 
page 300. 

142. Fallings from us, vanishings : that is, fits of utter dreaminess and ab- 
straction, when nothing material seems solid, but everything inere mist and 
shadow. 

153. seem moments: that is, seem but moments. 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 



299 



Nor man nor boy, 
Nor all that is at enmity with joy, 
Can utterly abolish or destroy ! 

Hence, in a season of calm weather, 160 

Though inland far we be, 
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea 

Which brought us hither. 

Can in a moment travel thither. 
And see the children sport upon the shore, 165 

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. 

X. 

Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song. 

And let the young lambs bound 

As to the tabor's sound ! 
We in thought will join your throng, 170 

Ye that pipe and ye that play. 

Ye that through your hearts to-day 

Feel the gladness of the May ! 
What though the radiance which was once so bright 
Be now forever taken from my sight, 175 

Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower ; 

We will grieve not — rather find 

Strength in what remains behind ; 

In the primal sympathy 180 

Which, having been, must ever be ; 

In the soothing thoughts that spring 

Out of human suffering; 

In the faith that looks through death, 
In years that bring the philosophic mind. 185 



Literary Analysis. — 160-166. The pupil will observe the grandeur of 
the thought imaged in these splendid lines, which should be committed to 
memory. 

167-169. Then sing . . . sound. What kind of sentence grammatically? 

174-185. What kind of sentence rhetorically.'' 

185. In . . . mind. Explain. 



300 



WORDSWORTH. 

XI. 

And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, 

Forebode not any severing of our loves ! 

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 

I only have relinquished one delight. 

To live beneath your more habitual sway. 

I love the brooks which down their channels fret, 

Even more than when I tripped lightly as they ; 

The innocent brightness of a new-born day 

Is lovely yet ; 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality ! 
Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears. 
To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 



LrrEKARY Analysis. — 189. only. What does the word modify.? 
201, 202. With what beautiful thought does the poem dose ? 



Note by Wordsworth. — This was composed during my residence at 
Town-End, Grasmere. Two years at least passed between the writing of the 
first four stanzas and the remaining part. To the attentive and competent 
reader the whole sufficiently explains itself, but there may be no harm in ad- 
verting here to particular feelings or experiences of my own mind on which 
the structure of the poem partly rests. Nothing was more difficult for me in 
childhood than to admit the notion of death as a state applicable to my own 
being. I have elsewhere said, 

A simple child 

That lightly draws its breath 

And feels its life in every limb, 

What should it know of death? 

But it was not so much from the source of animal vivacity that 7ny difficulty 
came as from a sense of the indomitableness of the spirit within me. I used 
to brood over the stories of Enoch and Elijah, and almost persuade myself 
that, whatever might become of others, I should be translated in something 
of the same way to heaven. With a feeling congenial to this, I was often 
unable to think of external things as having external existence, and I com- 



INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY. 



301 



muned with all that I saw as something not apart from, but inherent in, my 
own immaterial nature. Many times while going to school have I grasped at 
a wall or tree to recall rfyself from this abyss of idealism to the reality. At 
that time I was afraid of mere processes. In later periods of life I have de- 
plored, as we have all reason to do, a subjugation of an opposite character, 
and have rejoiced over the remembrances, as is expressed in the lines Obsti- 
nate Questionings, etc. To that dreamlike vividness and splendor which in- 
vests objects of sight in childhood, every one, I believe, if he would look back, 
could bear testimony, and I need not dwell upon it here ; but having in the 
poem regarded it as a presumptive evidence of a prior state of existence, I 
think it right to protest against a conclusion which has given pain to some 
good and pious persons, that I meant to inculcate such a belief. It is far too 
shadowy a notion to be recommended to faith as more than an element in our 
instincts of immortality. But let us bear in mind that though the idea is not 
advanced in Revelation, there is nothing there to contradict it, and the fall of 
man presents an analogy in its favor. Accordingly, a pre-existent state has 
entered into the creed of many nations, and among all persons acquainted 
with classic literature is known as an ingredient in Platonic philosophy. 
Archimedes said that he could move the world if he had a point whereon to 
rest his machine. Who has not felt the same aspirations as regards his own 
mind .' Having to wield some of its elements when I was impelled to write 
this poem on the immortality of the soul, I took hold of the notion of pre- 
existence as having sufficient foundation in humanity for authorizing me tt) 
make for my purpose the best use of it I could as a poet. 



XIX. 

WALTER SCOTT. 

1771-1832. 



^/r 



~~^-: 






\£ 








CHARACTERIZATION BY R. H. HUTTON.' 

I. The most striking feature of Scott's romances is that, for 
the mostN part, they are pivoted on public rather than mere pri- 
vate interests and passions. With but few exceptions — The An- 

' From Sir Waller Scoll, by Richard H. Hutton. 



HUTTON'S CHARACTERIZATION OF SCOTT. 



303 



tiquary, St. Ro7ian's Well., and Guy Manna-ing are the most im- 
portant — Scott's novels give us an imaginative view, not of mere 
individuals, but of individuals as they are affected by the public 
strifes and social divisions of the age. And this it is which gives 
his books so large an interest for old and young, soldiers and 
statesmen, the world of society and the recluse alike. You can 
hardly read any novel of Scott's and not become better aware 
what public life and political issues mean. And yet there is no 
artificiality, no elaborate attitudinizing before the antique mir- 
rors of the past, like Bulwer's, no dressing-out' of clothes-horses, 
like G. P. R. James. The boldness and freshness of the present 
are carried back into the past, and you see Papists and Puritans, 
Cavaliers and Roundheads, Jews, Jacobites, and freebooters, 
preachers, school-masters, mercenary soldiers, gypsies, and beg- 
gars, all living the sort of life which the reader jEeels that in their 
circumstances, and under the same conditions of time and place 
and parentage, he might have lived, too. Indeed, no man can 
read Scott without being more of a public man, whereas the or- 
dinary novel tends to make its readers rather less of one than 
before. 

2. Next, though most of these stories are rightly called ro- 
mances, no one can avoid observing that they give that side of 
life which is unromantic quite as vigorously as the romantic side. 
This was not true of Scott's poems, which only expressed one 
half of his nature, and were almost pure romances. But in the 
novels the business of life is even better portrayed than its sen- 
timents. Indeed, it was because Scott so much enjoyed the 
contrasts between the high sentiments of life and its dry and 
often absurd detail, that his imagination found so much freer a 
vent in the historical romance than it ever found in the romantic 
poem. Yet he clearly needed the romantic excitement of pict- 
uresque scenes and historical interests, too. I do not think he 
would ever have gained any brilliant success in the narrower re- 
gion of the domestic novel. He said himself, in expressing his 
admiration of Miss Austen : " The big bow-wow strain I can do 
myself, like any now going, but the exquisite touch which renders 
ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting, from 
the truth of the description and the sentiments, is denied to me." 
Indeed, he tried it to some extent in St. Ronan's Well, and, so far 



304 



SCOTT. 



as he tried it, I think he failed. Scott needed a certain large- 
ness of type, a strong-marked class-life, and, where it was possi- 
ble, a free, out-of-doors life, for his delineations. No one could 
paint beggars and gypsies, and wandering iiddlers, and mercenary 
soldiers, peasants and farmers and lawyers, and magistrates, and 
preachers, and courtiers, and statesmen, and, best of all, perhaps, 
queens and kings, with anything like his ability. 

3. 1 think the deficiency of his pictures of women, odd as it seems 
to say so, should be greatly attributed to his natural chivalry. His 
conception of women of his own or a higher class was always 
too romantic. He hardly ventured, as it were, in his tenderness 
for them, to look deeply into their little weaknesses and intrica- 
cies of character. With women of an inferior class, he had not 
this feeling. Nothing can be more perfect than the manner in 
which he blends the dairy -women and women of business in 
Jeanie Deans with the lover and the sister. But once make a 
woman beautiful, or in any way an object of homage to him, and 
Scott bowed so low before the image of her that he could not go 
deep into her heart. He could no more have analyzed such a 
woman, as Thackeray analyzed Lady Castlewood, or Amelia, or 
Becky, or as George Eliot analyzed Rosamond Vincy, than he 
could have vivisected Camp or Maida.' To some extent, there- 
fore, Scott's pictures of women remain something in the style of 
the miniatures of the last age — ^bright and beautiful beings with- 
out any special character in them. He was dazzled by a fair 
heroine. He could not take them up into his imagination as real 
beings as he did men. But then how living are his men, whether 
coarse or noble ! 

4. Some of the finest touches of Scott's humor are no doubt 
much heightened by his perfect command of the genius as well 
as the dialect of a peasantry in whom a true culture of mind and 
sometimes also of heart is found in the closest possible contact 
with the humblest pursuits and the quaintest enthusiasm for 
them. But Scott, with all his turn for irony — and Mr. Lockhart 
says that even on his death-bed he used towards his children the 
same sort of good-humored irony to which he had always accus- 
tomed them in his life — certainly never gives us any example of 

^ Scott's dogs. 



THE CHRISTIAN KNIGHT. 305 

that highest irony which is found so frequently in Shakespeare, 
which touches the paradoxes of the spiritual life of the children 
of earth, and which reached its highest point in Isaiah. The 
irony of Hamlet is far from Scott. His imagination was essen- 
tially one of distinct embodiment. He never even seemed so 
much as to contemplate that sundering of substance and form, 
that rending away of outward garments, that unclothing of the 
soul, in order that it might be more effectually clothed upon, 
which is at the heart of anything that may be called spiritual 
irony. The constant abiding of his mind within the well-defined 
forms of some one or other of the conditions of outward life and 
manners, among the scores of different spheres of human habit, 
was, no doubt, one of the secrets of his genius ; but it was also 
its neatest limitation. 



THE CHRISTIAN KNIGHT AND THE SARACEN CAVALIER. 

[Introduction. — The passage at arms here given forms the introductory 
chapter of Scott's novel of the Talisman, the finest of his Oriental romances. 
The "Christian Knight" is Richard Coeur de Lion, and the "Saracen Cava- 
lier " is Saladin. The portraits are drawn with great power.] 

I. The burning sun of Syria had not yet attained its highest 
point in the horizon, when a knight of the Red Cross, who had 
left his distant northern home, and joined the host of the cru- 
saders in Palestine, was pacing slowly along the sandy deserts 
which lie in the vicinity of the Dead Sea, where the waves of the 
Jordan pour themselves into an inland sea, from which there is 
no discharge of waters. 



Literary Analysis. — To what class of literary composition does the Tal- 
isman belong .'' Ans. To the historical novel. 

1-7. The burning . . . waters. Observe the masterly manner in which, in a 
single sentence, the scene and the principal actor in the romance are brought 
before the reader's imagination. — By what form of words does Scott make the 
statement that it was not yet noon ? 

5, 6. where . • . sea. What word in this clause is an infelicitous repetition 
of a word in the preceding member ? Can you remodel and improve the last 
part of the sentence .' 

20 



3o6 SCOTT. 

2. Upon this scene of desolation the sun shone with almost 
intolerable splendor, and all living nature seemed to have hid- 
den itself from the rays, excepting the solitary figure which lo 
moved through the flitting sand at a foot's pace, and appeared 
the sole breathing thing on the wide surface of the plain. 

3. The dress of the rider and the accoutrements of his horse 
were peculiarly unfit for the traveller in such a country. A coat 
of linked mail, with long sleeves, plated gauntlets, and a steel 15 
breastplate had not been esteemed a sufficient weight of armor; 
there was, also, his triangular shield suspended round his neck, 
and his barred helmet of steel, over which he had a hood and 
collar of mail, which was drawn around the warrior's shoulders 
and throat, and filled up the vacancy between the hauberk and 20 
the head-piece. His lower limbs were sheathed, like his body, 
in flexible mail, securing the legs and thighs, while the feet rest- 
ed in plated shoes, which corresponded with the gauntlets. 

4. A long, broad, straight-shaped, double-edged falchion, with a 
handle formed like a cross, corresponded with a stout poniard on 25 
the other side. The knight also bore, secured to his saddle, with 
one end resting on his stirrup, the long steel-headed lance, his 
own proper weapon, which, as he rode, projected backwards, and 
displayed its little pennoncel, to dally with the faint breeze, or 
drop in the dead calm. To this cumbrous equipment must be 30 
added a surcoat of embroidered cloth, much frayed and worn, 
which was thus far useful, that it excluded the burning rays of 
the sun from the armor, which they would otherwise have ren- 
dered intolerable to the wearer. 



Literary Analysis. — 8-12. Upon . . . plain. What kind of sentence gram- 
matically ? — What two synonymous verbs are used in this sentence ? — By what 
touch does the author convey a vivid impression of the lifeless desolation of 
the desert .? — Of what statement in the sentence is the last member a repeti- 
tion ? 

13-34. The dress . . . wearer. In the description of costume Scott is always 
peculiarly at home. Observe the skilful manner in which the details are pre- 
sented. — Give the meaning of the following terms (see Dictionary): "mail" 
(15); "helmet" (18); "hauberk" (20); "falchion" (24); "poniard" (25); 
" pennoncel " (29). 

17. there was. What is the logical subject of "was.'" Query as to the 
grammar. 



THE CHRISTIAN KNIGHT. ,07 

5. The surcoat bore, in several places, the arms of the owner, 35 
although much defaced. These seemed to be a couchant leop- 
ard, with the motto, ^' I sleep — wake me not.'^ An outline of the 
same device might be traced on his shield, though .many a blow 
had almost effaced the painting. The flat top of his cumbrous 
cylindrical helmet was unadorned with any crest. In retaining 40 
their own unwieldy defensive armor, the northern crusaders 
seemed to set at defiance the nature of the climate and country 
to which they were come to war. 

6. The accoutrements of the horse were scarcely less massive 
and unwieldy than those of the rider. The animal had a heavy 45 
saddle plated with steel, uniting in front with a species of breast- 
plate, and behind with defensive arn\or made to cover the loins. 
Then there was a steel axe, or hammer, called a mace-of-arms, 
and which hung to the saddle-bow ; the reins were secured by 
chain work, and the front stall of the bridle was a steel plate, 50 
with apertures for the eyes and nostrils, having in the midst a 
short, sharp pike, projecting from the forehead of the horse like 
the horn of the fabulous unicorn. 

7. But habit had made the endurance of this load of panoply* 

a second nature, both to the knight and his gallant charger. 55 
Numbers, indeed, of the western warriors who hurried to Pales- 
tine died ere they became inured to the burning climate ; but 
there were others to whom that climate became innocent, and 
even friendly, and among this fortunate number was the solitary 
horseman who now traversed the border of the Dead Sea. 60 

8. Nature, which cast his limbs in a mould of uncommon 
strength, fitted to, wear his linked hauberk with as much ease as 
if the meshes had been formed of cobwebs, had endowed him 
with a constitution as strong as his limbs, and which bade defi- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 35, 36. The surcoat . . . defaced. Analyze this sen- 
tence. 

37. with the motto. To what word is this phrase an adjunct .'' 

43. were come to war. Remark on the form "were come." — What part of 
speech is "war" here.'' 

54-60. In paragraph 7, seventeen words are of classical origin : what are 
these words .'' 

61-66. Nature . . . kind. Point out a simile and a personification in this 
sentence. 



3o8 



SCOTT. 



ance to almost all changes of climate, as well as to fatigue and 65 
privations of every kind. His disposition seemed, in some de- 
gree, to partake of the qualities of his bodily frame ; and as the 
one possessed great strength and endurance, united with the 
power of violent exertion, the other, under a calm and undis- 
turbed semblance, had much of the fiery and enthusiastic love of 7° 
glory which constituted the principal attribute of the renowned 
Norman line, and had rendered them sovereigns in every corner 
of Europe where they had drawn their adventurous swords. 

9. Nature had, however, her demands for refreshment and re- 
pose even on the iron frame and patient disposition of the Knight 75 
of the Sleeping Leopard ; and at noon, when the Dead Sea lay 
at some distance on his right, he joyfully hailed the sight of two 
or three palm-trees, which arose beside the well which was as- 
signed for his mid-day station. His good horse, too, which had 
plodded forward with the steady endurance of his master, now 80 
lifted his head, expanded his nostrils, and quickened his pace, as 

if he snuffed afar off the living waters, which marked the place of 
repose and refreshment. But labor and danger were doomed to 
intervene ere the horse or horseman reached the desired spot. 

10. As the Knight of the Couchant Leopard continued to fix 85 
his eyes attentively on the yet distant cluster of palm-trees, it 
seemed to him as if some object was moving among them. The 
distant form separated itself from the trees, which partly hid its 
motions, and advanced towards the knight with a speed which 
soon showed a mounted horseman, whom his turban, long spear, 90 
and green caftan floating in the wind, on his nearer approach, 
proved to be a Saracen cavalier.* " In the desert," saith an East- 
ern proverb, " no man meets a friend." The crusader was total- 
ly indifferent whether the infidel, who now approached on his 
gallant barb* as if borne on the wings of an eagle, came as 95 
friend or foe — perhaps, as a vowed champion of the cross, he 



Literary Analysis. — 66-73. His . . . swords. What kind of sentence is 
this rhetorically ?— Grammatically ? Indicate the principal propositions.— The 
subordinate propositions. — Explain "Norman line." 

74-84. What connective marks the transition to a new paragraph ?— In this 
sentence point out an epithet used figuratively. 

94. the infidel. Explain the application of the word here. 



THE CHRISTIAN KNIGHT 



309 



might rather have preferred the latter. He disengaged his 
lance from his saddle, seized it with the right hand, placed it in 
rest with its point half elevated, gathered up the reins in the 
left, waked his horse's mettle with the spur, and prepared to 100 
encounter the stranger with the calm self-confidence belonging 
to the victor in many contests. 

11. The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab 
horseman, managing his steed more by his limbs and the inflec- 
tion of his body than by any use of the reins which hung loose 105 
in his left hand ; so that he was enabled to wield the light 
round buckler of the skin of the rhinoceros, ornamented with 
silver loops, which he wore on his arm, swinging it as if he 
meant to oppose 'its slender circle to the formidable' thrust of 
the Western lance. His own long spear was not couched or lev- no 
elled like that of his antagonist, but grasped by the middle with 
his right hand, and brandished at arm's length above his head. 
As the cavalier approached his enemy at full career, he seemed 

to expect that the Knight of the Leopard would put his horse to 
the gallop to encounter him. 115 

12. But the Christian knight, well acquainted with the cus- 
toms of Eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good 
horse by any unnecessary exertion ; and, on the contrary, made 
a dead halt, confident that if the enemy advanced to the actual 
shock, his own weight, and that of his powerful charger, would 120 
give him sufficient advantage, without the additional momentum 
of rapid motion. Equally sensible and apprehensive of such a 
probable result, the Saracen cavalier, when he had approached 
towards the Christian within twice the length of his lance. 



Literary Analysis. — 97-102. He disengaged . . . contests. Change this 
sentence by transforming the first and second members into adjective phrases. 

103-115. Observe how, by a few vivid touches, the Saracenic horseman is 
brought before the mind's eye. 

109. its slender circle. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 28.) 

1 13. he. What noun does " he " represent ? Is there any ambiguity in the 
reference ? Would it not be better to repeat the noun ? 

116-130. How many synonyms of " horse " are used in this paragraph ? 

122-130. Equally . . . yards. In this sentence select the principal propositions 
(giving only the grammatical subjects and predicates), and observe the skilful 
manner in which the subordinate jjarts are introduced. 



3IO 



SCOTT. 



wheeled his steed to the left with inimitable dexterity, and rode 125 
twice around his antagonist, who, turning without quitting his 
ground, and presenting his front constantly to his enemy, frus- 
trated his attempts to attack him on an unguarded point ; so 
that the Saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to retreat to the 
distance of a hundred yards. 13° 

13. A second time, like a hawk attacking a heron, the heathen 
renewed the charge, and a second time was fain to retreat with- 
out coming to a close struggle. A third time he approached in 
the same manner, when the Christian knight, desirous to termi- 
nate this illusory warfare, in which he might at length have been iss 
worn out by the activity of his foeman, suddenly seized the 
mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and, with a strong hand and 
unerring aim, hurled it against the head of the emir ; for such, 
and not less, his enemy appeared. 

14. The Saracen was just aware of the formidable missile in 14° 
time to interpose his light buckler betwixt the mace and his 
head ; but the violence of the blow forced the buckler down on 
his turban, and though that defence also contributed to deaden 
its violence, the Saracen was beaten from his horse. Ere the 
Christian could avail himself of this mishap, his nimble foeman 145 
sprang from the ground, and, calling on his steed, which instant- 
ly returned to his side, he leaped into his seat without touching 
the stirrup, and regained all the advantage of which the Knight 
of the Leopard had hoped to deprive him. 

15. But the latter had in the meanwhile recovered his mace, 150 
and the Eastern cavalier, who remembered the strength and dex- 
terity with which his antagonist had aimed it, seemed to keep 



Literary Analysis. — 131. like a hawk, etc. Point out the aptness of the 
simile. — the heathen. Of what word previously used is this a synonym ? 

133-139. Substitute equivalent terms for the following italicized words and 
phrases : " A third time he appo-oached in the same maimer, when the Christian 
knight, desirous to tertninate this illusory warfat'e, in which he might at length 
have been worn out by the activity of his foeman, suddenly seized the mace 
which hung at his saddle-bow, and, with a strong hand and unej-riiig aim, hurled 
it against the head of the emir ; for such, and not less, his enemy appeared^ 

140. just. Place this word nearer the phrase it modifies. 

144, 145. Ere . . . mishap. What word does this clause modify? 

146. calling on his steed. To what word is this phrase an adjunct ? 



THE CHRISTIAN KNIGHT. 



311 



cautiously out of reach of that weapon, of which he had so lately 
felt the force ; while he showed his purpose of waging a distant 
warfare with missile weapons of his own. Planting his long 155 
spear in the sand at a distance from the scene of combat, he 
strung with great address a short bow, which he carried at his 
back, and, putting his horse to the gallop, once more described 
two or three circles of a wider extent than formerly, in the 
course of which he discharged six arrows at the Christian with 160 
such unerring skill that the goodness of his harness alone saved 
him from being wounded in as many places. The seventh shaft 
apparently found a less perfect part of the armor, and the Chris- 
tian dropped heavily from his horse. 

16. But what was the surprise of the Saracen, when, dismount- 165 
ing to examine the condition of his prostrate enemy, he found 
himself suddenly within the grasp of the European, who had had 
recourse to this artiiice to bring his enemy within his reach. 
Even in this deadly grapple, the Saracen was saved by his agil- 
ity and presence of mind. He unloosed the sword-belt, in which 170 
the Knight of the Leopard had fixed his hold, and thus eluding 
his fatal grasp, mounted his horse, which seemed to watch his 
motions with the intelligence of a human being, and again rode 
off. But in the last encounter the Saracen had lost his sword 
and his quiver of arrows, both of which were attached to the 175 
girdle, which he was obliged to abandon. He had also lost his 
turban in the struggle. These disadvantages seemed to incline 
the Moslem to a truce : he approached the Christian with his 
right hand extended, but no longer in a menacing attitude. 

17. "There is truce* betwixt our nations," he said, in the lingua iSo 
franca commonly used for the purpose of communication with 
the crusaders ; " wherefore should there be war betwixt thee 
and me ? Let there be peace betwixt us." 

" I am well contented," answered he of the Couchant Leop- 
ard ; "but what security dost thou offer that thou wilt observe 183 
the truce .-*" 

"The word of a follower of the Prophet was never broken," 
answered the emir. " It is thou, brave Nazarene,* from whom I 



Literary Analysis. — 155-162. Planting ... places. Improve this rather 
long and loose-jointed sentence by breaking it up into two sentences. 



212 SCOTT. 

should demand security, did I not know that treason seldom 
dwells with courage." ' 

i8. The crusader felt that the confidence of the Moslem made 
him ashamed of his own doubts. 

" By the cross of my sword," he said, laying his hand on the 
weapon as he spoke, " I will be true companion to thee, Saracen, 
while our fortune wills that we remain in company together." i 

" By Mohammed, Prophet of God, and by Allah, God of the 
Prophet," replied his late foeman, " there is not treachery in my 
heart towards thee. And now wend we to yonder fountain, for 
the hour of rest is at hand, and the stream had hardly touched 
my lip when I was called to battle by thy approach." : 

19. The Knight of the Couchant Leopard yielded a ready and 
courteous assent ; and the late foes, without an angry look or 
gesture of doubt, rode side by side to the little cluster of palm- 
trees. 

Literary Analysis. — 201-204. In the last paragraph which words are of 
Anglo-Saxon, and which of classical, origin .-' 



XX. 

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 

1772-1834. 




^A f' ^cl^ u'i^^^4/' 



CHARACTERIZATION BY CRAIK.' 

I. Coleridge's poetry is remarkable for the perfection of its 
execution, for the exquisite art with which its divine spirit is en- 
dowed with formal expression. The subtly woven words, with 

^ From English Language and Literature, by G. L. Craik, LL.D., vol. ii., p. 
478 et seq. 



314 



COLERIDGE. 



all their sky colors, seem to grow out of the thought or emo- 
tion, as the flower from its stalk, or the flame from its feed- 
ing oil. The music of his verse, too, especially of what he has 
written in rhyme, is as sweet and as characteristic as anything 
in the language, placing him for that rare excellence in the 
same small band with Shakespeare, and Beaumont and Fletcher 
(in their lyrics), and Milton, and Collins, and Shelley, and Ten- 
nyson. 

2. It was probably only quantity that was wanting to make 
Coleridge the greatest poet of his day. Certainly, at least, some 
things that he has written have not been surpassed, if they have 
been matched, by any of his contemporaries. And (as, indeed, 
has been the case with almost all great poets) he continued to 
write better and better the longer he wrote : some of his happi- 
est verses were the produce of his latest years. Not only, as we 
proceed from his earlier to his later compositions, does the exe- 
cution become much more artistic and perfect, but the informing 
spirit refined and purified, the tenderness grows more delicate 
and deep, the fire brighter and keener, the sense of beauty more 
subtle and exquisite. Yet from the first there was in all he 
wrote the divine breath which essentially makes poetry what it 
is. There was " the shaping spirit of imagination," evidently of 
soaring pinion and full of strength, though as yet sometimes un- 
skilfully directed, and encumbered in its flight by aq affluence 
of power which it seemed hardly to know how to manage ; hence 
an unselecting impetuosity in these early compositions, never in- 
dicating anything like poverty of thought, but producing occa- 
sionally considerable awkwardness and turgidity of style, and a 
declamatory air, from which no poetry was ever more free than 
that of Coleridge in its maturer form. 

3. Of Coleridge's poetry, in its most matured form, and in its 
best specimens, the most distinguishing characteristics are vivid- 
ness of imagination and subtlety of thought, combined with un- 
rivalled beauty and expressiveness of diction, and the most ex- 
quisite melody of verse. With the exception of a vein of melan- 
choly and meditative tenderness, flowing rather from a contem- 
plative survey of the mystery — the strangely mingled good and 
evil — of all things human than connected with any individual 
interests, there is not in general much of passion in his compo- 



LOVE. 



315 



sitions, and he is not well fitted, therefore, to become a very 
popular poet, or a favorite with the multitude. 

4. His love itself, warm and tender as it is, is still Platonic 
and spiritual in its tenderness, rather than a thing of flesh and 
blood. There is nothing in his poetry of the pulse of fire that 
throbs in that of Burns ; neither has he much of the homely 
every-day truth, the proverbial and universally applicable wis- 
dom of Wordsworth. Coleridge was, far more than either of 
these poets, " of imagination all compact." The fault of his 
poetry is the same that belongs to that of Spenser — it is too 
purely or unalloyedly poetical. But rarely, on the other hand, 
has there existed an imagination in which so much originality 
and daring were associated and harmonized with so gentle and 
tremblingly delicate a sense of beauty. Some of his minor 
poems especially, for the richness of their coloring combined 
with the most perfect finish, can be compared only to the flowers 
which spring up into loveliness at the touch of " great creating 
nature." The words, the rhyme, the whole flow of the music 
seem to be not so much the mere expression or sign of the 
thought as its blossoming or irradiation of the bright essence, , 
the equally bright though sensible effluence. 



I.— LOVE. 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
All are but ministers * of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame. 



Literary Analysis. — To what class of poetry does this poem belong? 
Alts. It belongs to the class of lyric poetry. 

State the versification of the poem. Ans. The poem is written in stanzas 
of four lines, the first three of which are iambic tetrameter, while the fourth is 
an iambic trimeter ; the fourth and second lines rhyme. 

What are the chief characteristics of the poem? Ans. They are a fine union 
of passion with delicacy, and of both with the sweetest, richest music. 

1-4. All o . . flame. What kind of statement is made in the first stanza, a 
particular or a general statement ? What purpose does this stanza serve ? — 
Point out an example of personification in these lines. — Explain "ministers" 
as here used. 



3i6 



COLERIDGE. 

2. Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour, 
When midway on the mount I lay, 

Beside tlie ruined tower. 

3. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene 
Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 

My own dear Genevieve ! 

4. She leaned against the armed man, 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listened to my lay. 

Amid the lingering light. 

5. Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
She loves me best whene'er I sing 

The songs that make her grieve. 

6. I played a soft and doleful air, 

I sang an old and moving story — 
An old rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 



Literary Analysis. — 5-8. Oft . . . tower. Arrange this stanza in the prose 
order. — Explain "waking dreams." — Give an instance of alliteration in this 
stanza. 

7-10. State in your own words what was the scene of the romance. Is it 
effective for the poet's purpose ? Why 1 

1 1. And . . . joy. What two metaphors in this line ? 

15, 16. She . . . light. Point out examples of alliteration. 

17. Few . . . own. What is the most emphatic word in this line ? By what 
device is it brought into prominence ? Transpose into the prose order, and 
note the difference. 

17-20. In this stanza, how many words are of other than Anglo-Saxon 
origin ? 

18. My hope! my joy! Note the fine effect of the recurrence of these terms 
used in line 11. 

20. grieye. Were it not for rhyme's sake, do you think the poet would use 
a word so strong as "grieve.?" What is perhaps a more fitting word.'' — Se- 
lect, from Dryden's Alexander's Feast, a line expressing a thought similar to 
that in lines 19, 20. 



LOVE. 

7. She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 
For well she knew I could not choose 

But gaze upon her face. 

8. I told her of the knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he wooed 

The Lady of the Land. 

9. I told her how he pined : and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love 

Interpreted my own. 

10. She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace • 
And she forgave me, that I gazed 

Too fondly on her face ! 

1 1 . But when I told the cruel scorn 

That crazed that bold and lovely knight, 
And that he crossed the mountain-woods, 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

12. That sometimes from the savage den. 
And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
And sometimes starting up at once 

In green and sunny glade, 



317 



Literary Analysis.— 25-28. Observe how preparation is made for the in- 
troduction of the story— how (stanza 5) we are told that Genevieve loved best 
when listening to songs that made her grieve, and how (line 22) the lover 
sang a " moving story ;" then how, before proceeding with the story as began 
in stanza 8, a fine effect is obtained by the pause in stanza 7. 

28. But. Grammatical construction ? 

31. And ... wooed. Supply the ellipsis. — What is the peculiar force of 
"long" as here used.!" 

37. 38- Of what lines are these an iteration ?— Observe the context of these 
lines in each instance. 

41-44- In stanza 11, name two words derived from Latin through French. 

45-47- That sometimes . . . once. What is the figure of speech ? (S^e Def. 
36.)— To what word is the phrase "starting up at once " an adjunct? 



3i8 COLERIDGE. 

13. There came and looked him in the face 

An angel beautiful and bright; 50 

And that he knew it was a fiend,* 
This miserable knight ; 

14. And that, unknowing what he did, 
He leaped amid a murderous band, 

And saved from outrage worse than death 55 

The Lady of the Land; 

15. And how she wept, and clasped his knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain, 

And ever strove to expiate* 

That scorn that crazed his brain ; 60 

16. And that she nursed him in a cave; 
And how his madness went away. 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 

A dying man he lay. 

17. His dying words — But when I reached 65 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,* 

My faltering voice and pausing harp 
Disturbed her soul with pity ! 



Literary Analysis. — 49, 50. There came . . . bright. Transpose into the 
prose order, and point out which effects are obtained by the use of the poetic 
order. 

51, 52. Point out an instance of pleonasm in these lines. 

57-59. Note the employment of the conjunction and to introduce each 
clause.' 

59. expiate. Etymology ? 

63. yellow. What does the use of this epithet suggest? 

64. man. Grammatical construction ? 

65. His dying words. Note the sudden pause by which the conclusion is left 
unexpressed. What is this figure of speech called ? (See Def. 38.)' 

■ The employment of conjunctions to an unusual degree is sometimes made 
a distinct figure of speech under the name oi polysyndeton. 



LOVE. 319 

18. All impulses of soul and sense 

Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve; 
The music and the doleful tale, 
The rich and balmy eve ; 

19. And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
An undistinguishable throng. 

And gentle wishes long subdued. 
Subdued and cherished long ! 

20. She wept with pity and delight. 

She blushed with love and virgin shame ; 
And, like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

21. Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside, 
As conscious of my look she stepped — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye. 

She fled to me and wept. 

22. She half enclosed me with her arms. 
She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 
And, bending back her head, looked up. 

And gazed upon my face. 

23. 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
x\nd partly 'twas a bashful art. 
That I might rather feel than see 

The swelling of her heart. 

24. I calmed her fears, and she was calm, 
And told her love with virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous bride. 



Lri'ERARY Analysis. — 71-76. In the enumeration of details in these lines, 
which particulars are to be classed as "impulses of soul," and which as "im- 
pulses of sense ?" 

74. undistinguishable throng. Explain. 

75, 76. subdued, Subdued. Notice the use of the same word at the end of one 
phrase and at the beginning of another.' 

' This is sometimes made a distinct figure under the name of anadiplosis. 



320 



COLERIDGE. 



II._MORNING HYMN TO MONT BLANC. 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star 
In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause 
On tliy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc ! 
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form ! 
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
How silently ! Around thee and above 
Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black, 
An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, 
As with a wedge ! But when I look again. 
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 
Thy habitation from eternity ! 

dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee. 
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 

Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer, 

1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody. 

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it. 

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, 

Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy ; 

Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused. 

Into the mighty vision passing — there. 

As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven. 

, Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears. 
Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy ! Awake, 
Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 

. Thou first and chief, sole Sovran of the Vale ! 
Oh, struggling with the darkness all the night. 
And visited all night by troops of stars. 
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : 
Companion of the morning-star at dawn. 
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawai 



MORNING HYMN TO MONT BLANC. 321 

Co-herald ! wake, oh wake, and utter praise ! ; 

Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 



And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! 

Who called you forth from night and utter death, 40 

From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks. 

Forever shattered and the same forever ? 

Who gave you your invulnerable life. 

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 45 

Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 

And who commanded — and the silence came — 

" Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ?" 

Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow 

Adown enormous ravines slope amain — so 

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice. 

And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 

Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven 

Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 55 

Clothe you with rainbows ? Who with living flowers 

Of loveliest blue spread garlands at your feet ? 

" God !" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 

Answer ; and let the ice-plains echo, " God !" 

" God !" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! 60 

Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! 

And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, 

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, " God !" 

, Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! 
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! 65 

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 
Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
Utter forth " God !" and fill the hills with praise. 



322 



COLERIDGE. 



8. Once more, hoar mount ! with thy sky-pointing peak, 7° 

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard. 
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, 
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast — 
Thou too, again, stupendous mountain, thou 
That, as I raise my head, a while^bowed low 7S 

In adoration, upward from thy base, 
Slow travelling, with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
To rise before me — rise, O, ever rise ; 

Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth. 80 

Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, 
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, 
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun. 
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God ! 85 



III.— PASSAGE FROM CHRISTABEL. 

Alas ! they had been friends in youth; 
But whispering tongues can poison truth ; 
And constancy lives in realms above ; 
And life is thorny; and youth is vain; 
And to be wroth with one we love, 
Doth work like madness in the brain. 
And thus it chanced, as I divine, 
With Roland and Sir Leoline. 
Each spake words of high disdain 
And insult to his heart's best brother : 
They parted — ne'er to meet again 1 
But never either found another 
To free the hollow heart from paining — 
They stood aloof, the scars remaining, 
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; 
A dreary sea now flows between ; 
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, 
Shall wholly do away, I ween. 
The marks of that which once hath been. 



XXI. 

CHARLES LAMB. 

1775-1834. 




^^^'^i-^ 



^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY DE QUINCEY.' 

T. Without attempting any elaborate analysis of Lamb's mer- 
its, which would be no easy task, one word or two may be said 
generally about the position he is entitled to hold in our litera- 

^ From Biographical Essays, by Thomas De Quincey. 



324 



LAMB. 



ture, and, comparatively, in European literature. In the literature 
of every nation, we are naturally disposed to place in the highest 
rank those who have produced some great and colossal work — a 
Paradise Lost, a Hamlet, a Novum Organum — which presupposes 
an effort of intellect, a comprehensive grasp, and a sustaining 
power, for its original conception, corresponding in grandeur to 
that effort, different in kind, which must preside in its execution. 

2. But after this highest class, in which the power to conceive 
and the power to execute are upon the same scale of grandeur, 
there comes a second, in which brilliant powers of execution, ap- 
plied to conceptions of a very inferior range, are allowed to es- 
tablish a classical rank. Every literature possesses, besides its 
great national gallery, a cabinet of minor pieces, not less perfect 
in their polish, possibly more so. In reality, the characteristic 
of this class is elaborate perfection : the point of inferiority is 
not in the finishing, but in the compass and power of the origi- 
nal creation, which (however exquisite in its class), moves within 
a smaller sphere. To this class belong, for example. The Rape 
of the Lock, that finished jewel of English literature ; The Dun- 
ciad (a still more exquisite gem) ; The Vicar of Wakefield (in its 
earliest part) ; in German, the Luise of Voss ; in French — what ? 
Above all others, the fables of La Fontaine. He is the pet and 
darling, as it were, of the French literature. 

3. Now, I affirm that Charles Lamb occupies a corresponding 
station in his own literature. I am not speaking (it will be ob- 
served) of kinds, but of degrees, in literary merit ; and Lamb I 
hold to be, as with respect to English literature, that which La 
Fontaine is with respect to French. For though there may be 
little resemblance otherwise, in this they agree, that both were 
wayward and eccentric humorists ; both confined their efforts to 
short flights ; and both, according to the standards of their sev- 
eral countries, were occasionally, and in a lower key, poets. 



DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG. 325 



DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG. 

[Introduction. — The subjoined piece is one of the Essays of Elia, under 
which pseudonym Lamb contributed to the Lotidon Magazine this charming 
series of papers. Says Sir T. N. Talfourd : " They are carefully elaborated ; 
yet never were works written in a higher defiance to the conventional pomp 
of style. A sly hit, a happy pun, a humorous combination, lets the light into 
the intricacies of the subject, and supplies the place of ponderous sentences."] 

1. Mankind, says a Chinese manuscript, which my friend M. 
was obliging enough to read and explain to me, for the first sev- 
enty thousand ages ate their meat raw, clawing or biting it from 
the living animal, just as they do in Abyssinia to this day. This 
period is not obscurely hinted at by their great Confucius in the 5 
second chapter of his Mundane Mutations, where he designates 

a kind of golden age by the term Cho-fang, literally the cooks' 
holiday. The manuscript goes on to say that the art of roast- 
ing, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder brother), was 
accidentally discovered in the manner following. 10 

2. The swine-herd Ho-ti, having gone out into the woods one 
morning, as his manner was, to collect mast* for his hogs, left his 
cottage in the care of his eldest son, Bo-bo, a great lubberly boy, 
who, being fond of playing with fire, as younkers* of his age 
commonly are, let some sparks escape into a bundle of straw, 15 
which kindling quickly, spread the conflagration over every part 
of their poor mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Together 
with the cottage (a sorry antediluvian makeshift of a building, 
yovi may think it), what was of much more importance, a fine lit- 
ter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in number, perished. 20 



Literary Analysis. — To what class of compositions does this piece be- 
long ? Ans. To the Essay. — What are the chief characteristics of the piece ? 
Ans. They are raciness and humor. 

I-IO. Mankind . . . following. By what means does Lamb give an appearance 
of truthfulness to the narrative ? 

2, 3. seventy thousand ages. The claims of the Chinese to a vast antiquity 
give point to this remarkable number. 

9. the elder brother. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 20.) 

11-17. The swine-herd . . . ashes. What kind of sentence, grammatically and 
rhetorically .'' 

14. younkers. Etymology ? 

17-20. Together . . . perished. What kind of sentence rhetorically? 



326 LAMB. 

China pigs have been esteemed a luxury all over the East from 
the remotest periods that we read of. Bo-bo was in the utmost 
consternation, as you may think, not so much for the sake of the 
tenement,* which his father and he could easily build up again 
with a few dry branches and the labor of an hour or two, at any 25 
time, as for the loss of the pigs. 

3. While he was thinking what he should say to his father, and 
wringing his hands over the smoking remnants of one of those 
untimely sufferers, an odor assailed his nostrils unlike any scent 
which he had before experienced. What could it proceed from ? 30 
Not from the burned cottage — he had smelled that smell be- 
fore ; indeed, this was by no means the first accident of the kind 
which had occurred through the negligence of this unlucky young 
firebrand. Much less did it resemble that of any known herb, 
weed, or flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time 3s 
overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. He next 
stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any signs of life in it. 
He burned his fingers, and to cool them he applied them, in his 
booby fashion, to his mouth. Some of the crumbs of the scorch- 
ed skin had come away with his fingers, and for the first time 40 
in his life (in the world's life indeed, for before him no man 
had known it) he tasted — crackling! Again he felt and fum- 
bled at the pig. It did not burn him so much now ; still he 
licked his fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length 
broke into his slow understanding that it was the pig that4s 
smelled so, and the pig that tasted so delicious ; and, surren- 
dering himself up to the new-born pleasure, he fell to tearing 
up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the flesh next it, 



Literary Analysis. — 29, 30. an odor . . . experienced. Express in other 
words. 

36. He knew not what to think. What kind of sentence grammatically .? 

36,37. He next. . . it. Is this mode of statement better than "He next 
stooped down to feel if there were any signs of life in the pig?" — if. Is this 
the proper conjunction.'' 

39. booby. Etymology? 

41. in the world's life. What effect does Lamb gain by making the dis- 
covery of crackling an epoch in the "world's life?" 

42. he tasted— crackling! What is gained by the use of the dash here? 
46. delicions. Grammatical construction? 



DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG. 



Z^l 



and was cramming it down his throat in his beastly fashion, 
when his sire entered amid the smoking rafters, armed with re- 5° 
tributory cudgel, and, finding how affairs stood, began to rain 
blows upon the young rogue's shoulders as thick as hailstones, 
which Bo-bo heeded not any more than if they had been flies. 
The tickling pleasure which he experienced in his lower regions 
had rendered him quite callous to any inconveniences he might 55 
feel in those remote quarters. His father might lay on, but he 
could not beat him from his pig till he had fairly made an end 
of it, when, becoming a little more sensible of his situation, 
something like the following dialogue ensued: 

" You graceless whelp, what have you got there devouring .'' 60 
Is it not enough that you have burned me down three houses 
with your clog's tricks, and be hanged to you ! but you must be 
eating fire, and I know not what ? What have you got there, I 
say ?" 

" O father, the pig, the pig ! Do come and taste how nice 65 
the burnt pig eats !" 

4. The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his son, 
and he cursed himself that ever he should beget a son that 
should eat burnt pig. Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully 
sharpened since morning, soon raked out another pig, and, fair- 70 
ly rending it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into 
the fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, " Eat, eat, eat the burnt 
pig, father ! only taste! — O Lord!" — with such-like barbarous 
ejaculations, cramming all the while as if he would choke. 

5. Ho-ti trembled in every joint while he grasped the abomina- 75 
ble * thing, wavering whether he should not put his son to death 
for an unnatural young monster, when the crackling scorching 
his fingers, as it had done his son's, and ajDplying the same rem- 



LlTERARY Analysis. — 53. which Bo-bo ... flies. Transfer this clause to 
the next sentence, making necessary verbal alterations : the unity of each sen- 
tence will thus be better preserved. 

^o. derouring'. Grammatical construction ? 

61. me — an example of the ethical dative. 

66. eats. Remark on the form of expression. 

75, 76. abominable thing. Why this expression ? — Give the derivation of 
"abominable." 

77. for. What is the force of the preposition here? 



328 LAMB. 

edy to them, he in his turn tasted some of its flavor, which, make 
what sour mouths he would for a pretence, proved not altogeth- So 
er displeasing to him. In conclusion (for the manuscript here is 
a little tedious), both father and son fairly sat down to the mess,* 
and never left off till they had despatched all that remained of 
the litter. 

6. Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret escape, for 85 
the neighbors would certainly have stoned them for a couple of 
abominable wretches, who could think of improving upon the 
good meat which God had sent them. Nevertheless, strange 
stories got about. It was observed that Ho-ti's cottage was 
burned down now more frequently than ever. Nothing but fires 9° 
from this time forward. Some would break out in broad day, 
others in the night-time. As often as the sow farrowed, so sure 
was the house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze ; and Ho-ti himself, 
which was the more remarkable, instead of chastising his son, 
seemed to grow more indulgent to him than ever. At length 95 
they were watched, the terrible mystery discovered, and father 
and son summoned to take their trial at Pekin, then an incon- 
siderable assize town. Evidence was given, the obnoxious food 
itself produced in court, and verdict about to be pronounced, 
when the foreman of the jury begged that some of the burned 100 
pig, of which the culprits stood accused, might be handed into 
the box. He handled it, and they all handled it, and burning 
their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had done before them, and 
nature prompting to each of them the same remedy, against the 
face of all the facts, and the clearest charge which judge had 105 
ever given— to the surprise of the whole court, townsfolk, stran- 
gers, reporters, and all present — without leaving the box, or any 
manner of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous 
verdict of Not Guilty. 

7. The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked* at the mani-nc 
fest iniquity of the decision; and when the court was dismissed 



Literary Analysis. — 85-109. Bo-bo . . . Guilty. Point out the humorous 
touches in paragraph 6. 

90, 91. NothiBg: . . . forward. What is the effect of the omission of the verb? 

no. who . . . fellow. What kind of clause is this, and what word does it 
modify ? — winked. What is the iigure of speech ? 



DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG. 



329 



went privily and bought up all the pigs that could be had for 
love or money. In a few days his lordship's town-house was ob- 
served to be on fire. The thing took wing, and now there was 
nothing to be seen but fire in every direction ; fuel and pigs us 
grew enormously dear all over the district. The insurance of- 
fices one and all shut up shop. People built slighter and slight- 
er every day, until it was feared that the very science of archi- 
tecture would in no long time be lost to the world. Thus this 
custom of firing houses continued, till in process of time, says 120 
my manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, who made a dis- 
covery that the flesh of swine, or indeed of any other animal, 
might be cooked {burnt, as they called it) without the necessity 
of consuming a whole house to dress it. Then first began the 
rude form of a gridiron. Roasting by the string or spit came in 125 
a century or two later — I forget in whose dynasty. By such 
slow degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most useful, and 
seemingly the most obvious, arts make their way among man- 
kind. 

8. Without placing too implicit faith in the account above 130 
given, it must be agreed that if a worthy pretext for so danger- 
ous an experiment as setting houses on fire (especially in these 
days) could be assigned in favor of any culinary object, that pre- 
text and excuse might be found in Roast Pig. 

9. Of all the delicacies in the whole mundus edibilis, I will 135 
maintain it to be the most delicate — princeps obsoniortcm. I 
speak not of your grown porkers — things between pig and pork, 



Notes. — Line 135. mnndus edib'ilis, 

literally the edible world, the 
whole range of things eatable. 



136. princeps obsoniorum, prince of 
viands. {^Obsoniorum, genitive 
plural oi obsoniuni.) 



Literary Analysis. — 1 14. took wing. Explain the expression. 

116. Tlie insurance, etc. Point out the element of humor. 

117. sliut up shop. Remark on the expression. 

126. By such, etc. Observe how the drollery of the history is heightened by 
the solemnity of this remark. 

132, 133. Why "especially in these days?" 

135-143. Of all . . . grunt. In this paragraph by what device does the author 
add a ludicrous dignity to his subject .-' 



33° 



LAMB. 



those hobbyclehoys — but a young and tender suckling, under 
a moon old, guiltless as yet of the sty; with no original speck 
of the amor immunditm, the hereditary failing of the first parent, 140 
yet manifest ; his voice as yet not broken, but something between 
a childish treble and a grumble, the mild forerunner, or prcelu- 
dkmi, of a grunt. 

10. He must be roasted. I am not ignorant that our ancestors 
ate them seethed, or boiled, but what a sacrifice of the exterior 145 
tegument ! 

11. There is no flavor comparable, I will contend, to that of 
the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted, crackling, as it 
is well called : the very teeth are invited to their share of the 
pleasure at this banquet in overcoming the coy, brittle resistance, 150 
with the adhesive oleaginous — O, call it not fat ! but an inde- 
finable sweetness growing up to it, the tender blossoming of 
fat, fat cropped in the bud, taken in the shoot, in the first in- 
nocence, the cream and quintessence of the child-pig's yet pure 
food — the lean, no lean, but a kind of animal manna — or, rather, 155 
fat and lean (if it must be so) so blended and running into each 
other, that both together make but one ambrosian result, or com- 
mon substance. 

12. Behold him while he is " doing" — it seemeth rather a re- 
freshing warmth than a scorching heat, that he is so passive to. 160 
How equably he twirleth round the string ! Now he is just 
done. To see the extreme sensibility of that tender age ! he 
hath wept out his pretty eyes — radiant jellies — shooting stars. 



140. amor inimunditi^, love of filth. | 142, 143. prieludium, prelude. 



Literary Analysis. — 138. hobbydehoys. In what consists the funny fe- 
licity of this term? 

139- with no original speck, etc. Explain the allusion. 

144. not ignorant. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 31.) 

145, 146. exterior tegument. Explain. But would any plainer terms be 
equally effective for Lamb's purpose ? 

147-158. There is . . . substance. The pupil cannot fail to note the exquisite 
art of this long, broken, but most deftly managed sentence — the piling of epi- 
thet on epithet, the delicious exaggeration of terms, the drollery of the mock 
heroics. 



DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG. 



331 



13. See him in the disli, his second cradle, how meek he lieth ! 
— wouldst thou have had this innocent grow up to the grossness 165 
and indocility which too often accompany maturer swinehood ? 
Ten to one he would have proved a glutton, a sloven, an obsti- 
nate, disagreeable animal, wallowing in all manner of filthy con- 
versation. From these sins he is happily snatched away 

" Ere sin could blight, or sorrow fade, 170 

Death came with timely care." 

His memory is odoriferous ; no clown curseth, while his stomach 
half rejecteth, the rank bacon ; no coal-heaver bolteth him in 
reeking sausages ; he hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful 
stomach of the judicious epicure,* and for such a tomb might be 175 
content to die. 

14. He is the best of sapors. Pineapple is great. She is, 
indeed, almost too transcendent — a delight, if not sinful, yet so 
like to sinning that really a tendei'-conscienced person would do 
well to pause ; too ravishing for mortal taste, she woundeth and 180 
excoriateth the lips that approach her ; she is a pleasure border- 
ing on pain from the iierceness and insanity of her relish; but 
she stoppeth at the palate ; she meddleth not with the appetite ; 
and the coarsest hunger might barter her consistently for a mut- 
ton-chop. 185 

15. Pig — let me speak his praise — is no less provocative of 
the appetite than he is satisfactory to the criticalness of the cen- 
sorious palate. The strong man may batten on him, and the 
weakling refuseth not his mild juices. 

16. Unlike to mankind's mixed characters, a bundle of virtues 190 



Literary Analysis. — 164. his second cradle. What is the figure of sjDeech ? 
— lieth. What is the effect of using the ancient form .'' 

169. sins. Remark on the use of this word. 

175. such a tomb, etc. The allusion is to a line of Milton in his sonnet on 
Shakespeare. See page 4 of this book. 

177. sapors, delicacies. 

177-185. Observe the skilful construction of paragraph 14: first two short 
pithy sentences, and then — as if the gusto of his thought carried the author 
away — an expanded, cumulative sentence. — Point out an example of antithesis 
in this paragraph. 

l86-l88. Pig . . . palate. What kind of sentence rhetorically .'' 



332 



LAMB. 



and vices, inexplicably intertwisted, and not to be unravelled* 
without hazard, he is — good throughout. No part of him is bet- 
ter or worse than another. He helpeth, as far as his little means 
extend, all around. He is the least envious of banquets. He is 
all neighbors' fare. igs 

17. I am one of those who freely and ungrudgingly impart a 
share of the good things of this life which fall to their lot (few 
as mine are in this kind) to a friend. I protest I take as great 
an interest in my friend's pleasures, his relishes, and proper sat- 
isfactions, as in mine own. "Presents," I often say, "endear 200 
absents." Hares, pheasants, partridges, snipes, barn - door 
chickens (those " tame villatic fowl "), capons, plovers, brawn, 
barrels of oysters, I dispense as freely as I receive them. I love 

to taste them, as it were, upon the tongue of my friend. But a 
stop must be put somewhere. One would not, like Lear, " give 205 
everything." I make my stand upon pig. Methinks it is an in- 
gratitude to the Giver of all good flavors to extra-domiciliate, or 
send out of the house, slightingly (under the pretext of friend- 
ship, or I know not what), a blessing so particularly adapted, 
predestined, I may say, to my individual palate. It argues an 210 
insensibility. 

18. I remember a touch of conscience in this kind at school. 
My good old aunt, who never parted from me at the end of a 
holiday without stuffing a sweetmeat, or some nice thing, into my 
pocket, had dismissed me one evening with a smoking plum- 215 
cake fresh from the oven. In my way to school (it was over 
London bridge) a gray-headed old beggar saluted me (I have no 
doubt, at this time of day, that he was a counterfeit). I had no 
pence to console him with, and, in the vanity of self-denial, and 
the very coxcombry of charity, school-boy-like, I made him a 220 
present of — the whole cake ! I walked on a little, buoyed up, 
as one is on such occasions, with a sweet soothing of self-satis- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 194. He . . . banquets. Explain. 

196-21 1. In paragraph 17 how does the author contrive to convey a notion 
of his superlative appreciation of pig? 

200, 201. Presents . . . absents. Point out the play upon words. 

202. villatic, pertaining to a village. The quotation is from Milton. 

212-238. Make an abstract from memory of paragraph 18. — Point o.ut 
touches of delicate irony in this paragraph. 



DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG. 



ZIZ 



faction ; but, before I had got to the end of the bridge, my bet- 
ter feelings returned, and I burst into tears, tliinking how un- 
grateful I had been to my good aunt, to go and give her good 225 
gift away to a stranger that I had never seen before, and who 
might be a bad man for aught I knew ; and then I thought of 
the pleasure my aunt would be taking in thinking that I — I my- 
self, and not another — would eat her nice cake. And what should 
I say to her the next time I saw her ? How naughty I was to 230 
part with her pretty present ! And the odor of that spicy cake 
came back upon my recollection, and the pleasure and the curi- 
osity I had taken in seeing her make it, and her joy when she 
sent it to the oven, and how disappointed she would feel that I 
had never had a bit of it in my mouth at last. And I blamed 235 
my impertinent spirit of almsgiving and out-of-place hypocrisy 
of goodness ; and, above all, I wished never to see the face 
again of that insidious, good-for-nothing, old gray impostor. 

J 9. Our ancestors were nice in their method of sacrificing 
these tender victims. We read of pigs whipped to death with 240 
something of a shock, as we hear of any other obsolete custom. 
The age of discipline is gone by, or it would be curious to in- 
quire (in a philosophical light merely) what effect this jDrocess 
might have towards intenerating and dulcifying a substance nat- 
urally so mild and dulcet as the flesh of young pigs. It looks 245 
like refining a violet. Yet we should be cautious, while we con- 
demn the inhumanity, how we censure the wisdom of the prac- 
tice. It might impart a gusto. 

20. I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young stu- 
dents when I was at St. Omer's, and maintained with much 250 
learning and pleasantry on both sides, "Whether, supposing 
that the flavor of a pig who obtained his death by whipping (^per 
flagellationem extremaui) superadded a pleasure upon the palate of 
a man more intense than any possible suffering we can conceive 



Literary Analysis. — 239. nice. Meaning here? 

244. intenerating, rendering tender. — dulcifying, rendering sweet. These are 
instances of Lamb's fondness for rare or obsolete words. 

246. refining a violet. Query as to this expression. 

249-256. I remember . . . decision. Observe the drollery of this imitation of 
the kind of questions argued by the mediaeval schoolmen. 



334 LAMB. 

in the animal, is man justified in using that method of putting 255 
the animal to death ?" I forget the decision. 

21. His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few bread- 
crumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a dash of mild 
sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I beseech you, the whole 
onion tribe. Barbecue your whole hogs to your palate, steep 260 
them in shallots, stuff them out with plantations of the rank and 
guilty garlic ; you cannot poison them, or make them stronger 
than they are ; but consider, he is a weakling — a flower. 



Literary Analysis. — 256. I forget the decision. Would it have been 
good art to re'menibe7- it ? 

257-263. In the last paragraph point out an example of alliteration. Of 
metaphor. 



XXII. 

DANIEL WEBSTER. 

1782-1852. 




Q^ cs^^j^- J^^A:^^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY RUFUS CHOATE. 

I. Little anywhere can be added now to that wealth of eulogy 
that has been heaped upon the tomb of Webster. Before he 
died, even, renowned in two hemispheres, in ours he seemed to 
be known with a universal nearness of knowledge. He walked 



336 



WEBSTER. 



so long and so conspicuously before the general eye ; his actions, 
his opinions, on all things Avhich had been large enough to agitate 
the public mind for the last thirty years and more, had had im- 
portance and consequences so remarkable — anxiously waited for, 
passionately canvassed, not adopted always into the particular 
measure, or deciding the particular vote of government or the 
country, yet sinking deep into the reason of the people — a stream 
of influence whose fruits it is yet too soon for political philos- 
ophy to appreciate completely ; an impression of his extraor- 
dinary intellectual endowments, and of their peculiar superiority 
in that most imposing and intelligible of all forms of manifesta- 
tion, the moving of others' minds by speech — this impression had 
grown so universal and fixed, and it had kindled curiosity to hear 
him and read him so wide and so largely indulged; his individ- 
uality altogether was so absolute and so pronounced, the force 
of will no less than the power of genius; the exact type and fash- 
ion of his mind, not less than its general magnitude, were so dis- 
tinctly shown through his musical, transparent style ; the exterior 
of the man, the grand mystery of brow and eye, the deep tones, 
the solemnity, the sovereignty, as of those who would build states, 
where every power and every grace did seem to set its seal, had 
been made — by personal observation, by description, by the exag- 
geration even, of those who had felt the spell — by art, the da- 
guerreotype and picture and statue — so familiar to the American 
eye, graven on the memory like the Washington of Stuart ; the 
narrative of the mere incidents of his life had been so often told 
(by some so authentically and with such skill), and had been so 
literally committed to heart, — that when he died there seemed to 
be little left but to say when and how his change came ; with 
what dignity, with what possession of himself, with what loving 
thought for others, with what gratitude to God, uttered with un- 
faltering voice, that it was appointed to him there to die ; to say 
how thus, leaning on the rod and staff of the promise, he took his 
way into the great darkness undismayed, till death should be 
swallowed up of life ; and then to relate how they laid him in 
that simple grave, and turning and pausing, and joining their 
voices to the voices of the sea, bade him hail and farewell. . . . 

2. But there were other fields of oratory on which, under the 
influence of more uncommon springs of inspiration, he exempli- 



I 



CHOATE'S CHARACTERIZATION OF WEBSTER. 337 

fied, in still other forms, an eloquence in which I do not know 
that he has had a superior among men. Addressing masses by 
tens of thousands in the open air, on the urgent political ques- 
tions of the day; or designated to lead the meditations of an 
hour devoted to the remembrance of some national era, or of 
some incident marking the progress of the nation, and lifting him 
up to a view of what is, and what is past, and some indistinct 
revelations of the glory that lies in the future, or of some great 
historical name, just borne by the nation to his tomb — we have 
learned that then and there, at the base of Bunker Hill, before 
the corner-stone was laid, and again when from the finished col- 
umn the centuries looked on him ; in Faneuil Hall, mourning for 
those with whose spoken or written eloquence of freedom its 
arches had so often resounded ; on the rock of Plymouth ; be- 
fore the Capitol, of which there shall not be one stone left on 
another before his memory shall have ceased to live — in such 
scenes, unfettered by the laws of forensic or parliamentary de- 
bate ; multitudes uncounted lifting up their eyes to him ; some 
great historical scenes of America around ; all symbols of her 
glory and art and power and fortune there ; voices of the past, 
not unheard ; shapes beckoning from the future, not unseen — 
sometimes that mighty intellect, borne upwards to a height and 
kindled to an illumination which we shall see no more, wrought 
out, as it were in an instant, a picture of vision, warning, predic- 
tion : the progress of the nation ; the contrasts of its eras ; the 
heroic deaths ; the motives to patriotism ; the maxims and arts 
imperial by which the glory has been gathered and may be 
heightened — wrought out, in an instant, a picture to fade only 
when all record of our mind shall die. 

3. We seem to see his form and hear his deep, grave speech 
everywhere. By some felicity of his personal life ; by some wise, 
deep, or beautiful word spoken or written ; by some service of 
his own, or some commemoration of the services of others, it has 
come to pass that " our granite hills, our inland seas, prairies, 
and fresh, unbounded, magnificent wilderness ;" our encircling 
ocean ; the resting-place of the Pilgrims ; our new-born sister of 
the Pacific ; our popular assemblies ; our free schools ; all our 
cherished doctrines of education, and of the influence of religion, 
and national policy and law, and the Constitution, give us back 

22 



338 



WEBSTER. 



his name. What American landscape will you look on ; what 
subject of American interest will you study; what source of hope 
or of anxiety, as an American, will you acknowledge, that it does 
not recall him ? . . . 

4. But it is time that this eulogy was spoken. My heart goes 
back into the coffin there with him, and I would pause. I went 
— it is a day or two since — alone, to see again the home which 
he so dearly loved, the chamber where he died, the grave in which 
they laid him — all habited as when 

" His look drew audience still as night, 
Or summer's noontide air " — 

till the heavens be no more. Throughout that spacious and calm 
scene all things to the eye showed at first unchanged. The books 
in the library; the portraits; the table at which he wrote; the 
scientific culture of the land ; the course of agricultural occupa- 
tion ; the coming-in of harvests, fruit of the seed his own hand had 
scattered ; the animals and implements of husbandry ; the trees 
planted by him in lines, in copses, in orchards, by thousands ; the 
seat under the noble elm, on which he used to sit to feel the 
southwest wind at evening, or hear the breathings of the sea, or 
the not less audible music of the starry heavens, all seemed at 
first unchanged. The sun of a bright day, from which, however, 
something of the fervors of midsummer were wanting, fell tem- 
perately on them all, filled the air on all sides with the utterances 
of life, and gleamed on the long line of ocean. Some of those 
whom on earth he loved best still were there. The great mind 
still seemed to preside ; the great presence to be with you ; you 
might expect to hear again the rich and playful tones of the voice 
of the old hospitality. Yet a moment more, and all the scene 
took on the aspect of one great monument, inscribed with his 
name, and sacred to his memory. 

5. And such it shall be in all the future- of America ! The sen- 
sation of desolateness and loneliness and darkness with which 
you see it now will pass away ; the sharp grief of love and friend- 
ship will become soothed ; men will repair thither as they are 
wont to commemorate the great days of history; the same glance 
shall take in, and the same emotions shall greet and bless, the 
harbor of the Pilsfrims and the tomb of Webster. 



FROM THE SPEECH IN REPL Y TO HA YNE. 339 



FROM THE SPEECH IN REPLY TO HAYNE. 

[Introduction. — The speech of which the first of the subjoined extracts 
forms the exordium, and the second the peroration, is known as Webster's 
Second Speech on Foofs Resolution. In the latter part of 1829, Senator Foot, 
of Connecticut, moved in the Senate a resolution in relation to the disposal of 
the public lands in the West. On this subject Webster delivered a brief 
speech, to which Senator Hayne, of South Carolina, responded. In his speech 
Hayne departed widely from the subject of the resolution, opening up a varie- 
ty of political and constitutional questions. This course rendered a response 
incumbent upon Webster, who acquitted himself in the magnificent speech 
delivered before the United States Senate, January 26, 1830.] 

I. 

1. When this debate, sir, was to be resumed, on Thursday morn- 
ing, it so happened that it would have been convenient for me to 
be elsewhere. The honorable gentleman, however, did not in- 
cline to put off the discussion to another day. He had a shot, 
he said, to return, and he wished to discharge it. That shot, sir, 5 
which he thus kindly informed us was coming, that we might 
stand out of the way or prepare ourselves to fall by it and die 
with decency, has now been received. Under all advantages, 
and with expectation awakened by the tone which preceded it, it 
has been discharged, and has spent its force. It may become me 10 
to say no more of its effect than that, if nobody is found, after 
all, either killed or wounded, it is not the first time in the history 
of human affairs that the vigor and success of the war have not 
quite come up to the lofty and sounding phrase of the man- 
ifesto.* 15 

2. The gentleman, sir, in declining to postpone the debate, told 
the Senate, with the emphasis of his hand upon his heart, that 



Literary Analysis. — 1-3. when . . . elsewhere. What kind of sentence 
grammatically.'' Rhetorically.'' 

4. He had a shot, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 20.) 

5-10. That shot . . . force. To what use does Webster in these sentences 
turn Hayne's metaphor ? — Point out any ironical expression. 

10-15. It . . • manifesto. What kind of sentence rhetorically? 

16-48. The gentleman . . . aimed. It will be noted that, as in paragraph i 
Webster occupies himself with tossing his antagonist on the point of his own 
metaphor, so in paragraph 2 he takes up another of Hayne's remarks and 
adroitly turns the edge of it against him. 



340 



WEBSTER. 



there was something rankling* here, of which he wished to rid 
himself by an immediate reply. In this respect, sir, I have a 
great advantage over the honorable gentleman. There is noth- 20 
ing here, sir, which gives me the slightest uneasiness ; neither 
fear, nor anger, nor that which is sometimes more troublesome 
than either — the consciousness of having been in the wrong. 
There is nothing either originating here or now received here by 
the gentleman's shot. Nothing originating here, for I had not 25 
the slightest feeling of unkindness towards the honorable mem- 
ber. Some passages,* it is true, had occurred since our acquaint- 
ance in this body which I could have wished might have been 
otherwise ; but I had used philosophy and forgotten them, I 
paid the honorable member the attention of listening with re- 3° 
spect to his first speech ; and when he sat down, though sur- 
prised, and I must even say astonished, at some of his opinions, 
nothing was farther from my intention than to commence any 
personal warfare. Through the whole of the few remarks I made 
in answer, I avoided, studiously and carefully, everything which 3s 
I thought possible to be construed into disrespect. And, sir, 
while there is thus nothing originating here, which I have wished 
at any time, or now wish, to discharge, I must repeat, also, that 
nothing has been received heix which rankles, or in any way gives 
me annoyance. I will not accuse the honorable member of vio- 40 
lating the rules of civilized war ; I will not say that he poisoned . 
his arrows. But whether his shafts were, or were not, dipped in 
that which would have caused rankling if they had reached their 
destination, there was not, as it happened, quite strength enough 
in the bow to brine: them to their mark. If he wishes now to 45 



Literary Analysis. — 20-23. There is ... wrong. How is the general 
statement in the first part of the sentence enforced by the latter part ? 

24, 25. There is . . . shot. In this sentence a double denial is made : show 
what sentences carry out the first denial, and what the second. 

31, 32. though surprised. Supply the ellipsis. 

40. I will not, etc. What is there in the form of statement that adds great 
force to this sentence ? — Point out the metaphor. 

42-45. But whether . . . mark. Where is the sting in this sentence .'' 

45-48. If he . . . aimed. Compare the last sentence of paragraph 2 with the 
last of paragraph i : note that the former is, in a modified form, an iteration 
of the latter; but, as hurled forth in paragraph 2, what prodigious increase 
of momentum the statement has gained ! 



FROM THE SPEECH IN REPLY TO HAYNE. 



341 



gather up those shafts, he must look for them elsewhere : they 
will not be found fixed and quivering in the object at which they 
were aimed. 

3. The honorable member complained that I had slept on his 
speech. I must have slept on it, or not slept at all. The mo- 50 
ment the honorable member sat down, his friend from Missouri 
rose, and, with much honeyed commendation of the speech, sug- 
gested that the impressions which it had produced were too 
charming and delightful to be disturbed by other sentiments or 
other sounds, and proposed that the Senate should adjourn. 55 
Would it have been quite amiable in me, sir, to interrupt this ex- 
cellent good feeling ? Must I not have been absolutely malicious, 

if I could have thrust myself forward to destroy sensations thus 
pleasing ? Was it not much better and kinder, both to sleep upon 
them myself, and to allow others also the pleasure of sleeping 60 
upon them ? But if it be meant, by sleeping upon his speech, 
that I took time to prepare a reply, it is quite a mistake. Owing 
to other engagements, I could not employ even the interval be- 
tween the adjournment of the Senate and its meeting the next 
morning in attention to the subject of this debate. Neverthe-65 
less, sir, the mere matter of fact is undoubtedly true. I did sleep 
on the gentleman's speech, and slept soundly. And I slept 
equally well on his speech of yesterday, to which I am now re- 
plying. It is quite possible that in this respect, also, I possess 
some advantage over the honorable member, attributable, doubt- 70 
less, to a cooler temperament on my part ; for, in truth, I slept 
upon his speeches remarkably well. 

4. But the gentleman inquires why he was made the object of 



Literary Analysis. — 49-72. In paragraph 3, Webster pursues the same 
tactics as in the two previous paragraphs ; that is, he seizes upon an observa- 
tion of his opponent and presses it back upon him. — Divide this paragraph 
into its three principal parts. 

51. Ms friend. Senator Benton. 

56-61. Would . . . them? What is the effect of the use of the interrogative 
form in these three sentences ? 

62. it is quite a mistake. Note the temperance of the statement. A frothy 
orator would have " hurled back the imputation," etc. 

71. I slept, etc. What inference does Webster wish to be drawn from this 
statement ? 



342 



WEBSTER. 



such a reply ? Wh}^ was he singled out ? If an attack has been 
made on the East, he, he assures us, did not begin it; it was made 7S 
by the gentleman from Missouri. Sir, I answered the gentle- 
man's speech because I happened to hear it ; and because, also, 
I chose to give an answer to that speech which, if unanswered, I 
thought most likely to produce injurious impressions. I did not 
stop to inquire who was the original drawer of the bill. I found 80 
a responsible endorser* before me, and it was my purpose to 
hold him liable, and to bring him to his just responsibility, with- 
out delay. But, sir, this interrogatory of the honorable member 
was only introductory to another. He proceeded to ask me 
whether I had turned upon him, in this debate, from the con- 85 
sciousness that I should find an overmatch if I ventured on a 
contest with his friend from Missouri. If, sir, the honorable 
member, 7nodestice gratia., had chosen thus to defer to his friend, 
and to pay him a compliment, without intentional disparagement 
to others, it w^ould have been quite according to the friendly cour- 9° 
tesies of debate, and not at all ungrateful to my own feelings. I 
am not one of those, sir, who esteem any tribute of regard, whether 
light and occasional, or more serious and deliberate, which may 
be bestowed on others, as so much unjustly withholden from 
themselves. But the tone and manner of the gentleman's ques- 95 
tion forbid me thus to interpret it. I am not at liberty to con- 
sider it as nothing more than a civility to his friend. It had an 
air of taunt and disparagement, something of the loftiness of as- 
serted superiority, which does not allow me to pass it over with- 
out notice. It was put as a question for me to answer, and so 100 
put as if it were difficult for me to answer, whether I deemed the 
member from Missouri an overmatch for myself in debate here. 
It seems to me, sir, that this is extraordinary language, and an 
extraordinary tone, for the discussions of this body. 



Literary Analysis. — 80. drawer of the bill. What is the figure of speech ? 
(See Def. 20.) — Show how this figure is carried out in the subsequent part of 
the sentence. 

87-91. If. . . feelings. What kind of sentence rhetorically.'' 

88. moflestiiB gratia, for modesty's sake. 

94. witlijioldeii. Why does Webster use this form ? 



FROM THE SPEECH IN REPL Y TO HA YJVE. 



343 



5. Matches and overmatches ! Those terms are more appli- 105 
cable elsewhere than here, and fitter for other assemblies than 
this. Sir, the gentleman seems to forget where and what we 
are. This is a Senate, a Senate of equals, of men of individual 
honor and personal character, and of absolute independence. 
We know no masters, we acknowledge no dictators. This is a no 
hall for mutual consultation and discussion ; not an arena for 
the exhibition of champions. I offer myself, sir, as a match for 
no man ; I throw the challenge of debate at no man's feet. But 
then, sir, since the honorable member has put the question in a 
manner that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer ; and 115 
I tell him that, holding myself to be the humblest of the mem- 
bers here, I yet know nothing in the arm of his friend from Mis- 
souri, either alone or when aided by the arm of /its friend from 
South Carolina, that need deter even me from espousing what- 
ever opinions I may choose to espouse, from debating whenever 120 
I may choose to debate, or from speaking whatever I may see 
fit to say, on the floor of the Senate. Sir, when uttered as mat- 
ter of commendation or compliment, I should dissent from noth- 
ing which the honorable member might say of his friend. Still 
less do I put forth any pretensions of my own. But when put 125 
to me as matter of taunt, I throw it back, and say to the gentle- 
man that he could possibly say nothing more likely than such a 
comparison to wound ray pride of personal character. The 
anger of its tone rescued the remark from intentional irony, 
which otherwise, probably, would have been its general accepta- 130 
tion. But, sir, if it be imagined that by this mutual quotation 
and commendation ; if it be supposed that, by casting the char- 
acters of the drama, assigning to each his part, to one the at- 
tack, to another the cry of onset ; or if it be thought that, by a 
loud and empty vaunt of anticipated victory, any laurels are to 135 
be won here ; if it be imagined, especially, that any or all these 
things will shake any purpose of mine, I can tell the honorable 
member, once for all, that he is greatly mistaken, and that he is 



Literary Analysis. — 105-148. In paragraph 5, notice the fine combina- 
tion of the different types of sentence — simple, complex, and compound ; pe- 
riodic and loose ; long and short. — Point out examples of words used figura- 
tively ; examples of words used in a particularly felicitous manner. 



344 



WEBSTER. 



dealing with one of whose temper and character he has yet 
much to learn. Sir, I shall not allow myself, on this occasion, 14° 
I hope on no occasion, to be betrayed into any loss of temper : 
but if provoked, as I trust I never shall be, into crimination 
and recrimination, the honorable member may perhaps find that, 
in that contest, there will be blows to take as well as blows to 
give ; that others can state comparisons as significant, at least, 145 
as his own ; and that his impunity may possibly demand of him 
whatever powers of taunt and sarcasm he may possess. I com- 
mend him to a prudent husbandry* of his resources. 

II. 

6. Mr. President, I have thus stated the reasons of my dis- 
sent to the doctrines which have been advanced and maintained. 150 
I am conscious of having detained you and the Senate much too 
long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous delibera- 
tion,* such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and impor- 
tant a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and 

I have not been willing to suppress the utterance of its spontane- 155 
ous sentiments. I cannot, even now, persuade myself to relin- 
quish it, without expressing, once more, my deep conviction that, 
since it respects nothing less than the Union of the States, it is 
of most vital and essential importance to the public happiness. 

7. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in 160 
view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the 
preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that Union we owe 
our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. 

It is to that Union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever 
makes us most proud of our country. That Union we reached 165 
only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of ad- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 150. to. Query as to this preposition. — advanced 
and maintained. What is the distinction between these words '^ 

152, 153. deliberation. Etymology? 

160-162. Substitute equivalent terms for the following italicized words : " I 
profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity 
and honor of the whole country, and X}[i& preservation of our Federal Union," 

165. That Union. Notice the rhetorical order of the word " Union," and the 
effect of this position in preserving the unity of the subject under exposition. 



FROM THE SPEECH IN REPLY TO HAYNE. 345 

versity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, 
prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influ- 
ences, tliese great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, 
and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its dura- 170 
tion has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings ; 
and, although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, 
and our population spread further and further, they have not 
outrun its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a 
copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. 175 

8. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the Union, to 
see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not 
coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty when the bonds 
that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not ac- 
customed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see 180 
whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the 
abyss below ; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the 
affairs of this government whose thoughts should be mainly bent 
on considering, not how the Union may be best preserved, but 
how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall 185 
be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have 
high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us 
and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. 
God grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise ! 
God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies be- 190 
hind ! When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last 
time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the bro- 
ken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; on 
States dissevered, discordant, belligerent ; on a land rent with 
civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, ni fraternal blood ! Let 19s 
their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous 



Literary Analysis. — 167. it li.ad its orig-in, etc. Explain the historical 
reference. 

175. national, etc. How is the climax made effective here ? 

176-207. I have . . . insepsirable ! What words are used figuratively in this 
paragraph .'' — Give examples of majestic diction. 

189-207. God grant ... inseparable! What is the figure of speech ? (See 
Def. 24, i.) — In this peroration the Anglo-Saxon words are in the proportion 
of eighty per cent. Select the classical words, and commit the passage to 
memory. 



346 



WEBSTER. 



ensign of the republic, now known and honored tlaroughout the 
earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies * streaming 
in their original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single 
star obscured ; bearing for its motto, no such miserable inter- 200 
rogatory as " What is all this worth ?" nor those other words of 
delusion and folly, " Liberty first, and Union afterwards ;" but 
everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing 
on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the 
land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other 205 
sentiment, dear to every true American heart — Liberty and 
Union, now and forever, one and inseparable ! 



XXIII. 

WASHINGTON IRVING. 

^783-1859- 




CHARACTERIZATION BY THACKERAY. 

I. Irving was the first ambassador whom the New World of 
letters sent to the Old.' He was born almost with the repub- 

^ Irving preceded nearly all the authors whose works we think of as consti- 
tuting American literature — Bryant, Cooper, Longfellow. Channmg, Emerson, 



348 IRVING. 

lie;' \k\& pater pair icE~ had laid his hand on the child's head. 
He bore Washington's name ; he came among us bringing the 
kindest sympathy, the most artless, smiling good-will. 

2. His new country (which some people here^ might be dis- 
posed to regard rather superciliously) could send vis, as he 
showed in his own person, a gentleman who, though himself 
born in no very high sphere, was most finished, polished, easy, 
witty, quiet, and socially the equal of the most refined Euro- 
peans. If Irving's welcome in England was a kind one, was it 
not also gratefully remembered ? If he ate our salt, did he not 
pay us with a thankful heart ? 

3. In America the love and regard for Irving was a national 
sentiment. It seemed to me, during a year's travel in the coun- 
try, as if no one ever aimed a blow at Irving. All men held 
their hands from that harmless, friendly peace-maker. I had 
the good fortune to see him at New York, Philadelphia, Balti- 
more, and Washington, and remarked how in every place he was 
honored and welcomed. Every large city has its " Irving 
House." The country takes pride in the fame of its men of 
letters. 

4. The gate of his own charming little domain on the beauti- 
ful Hudson River* was forever swinging before visitors who 
came to him. He shut no one out. I had seen many pictures 
of his house, and read descriptions of it, in both of which it was 
treated with a not unusual American exaggeration. It was but 
a pretty little cabin of a place ; the gentleman of the press who 
took notes of it, while his kind old host was sleeping, might have 
visited the house in a couple of minutes. 

5. And how came it that this house was so small, when Mr. 

Whittier, Hawthorne, Holmes, and the rest. Two great writers, and two only, 
appeared during the colonial period — Benjamin Franklin and Jonathan Ed- 
wards ; but the one was a philosopher, the other a theologian, and neither be- 
longed to the literary guild in the strict sense of the term. Irving was a year 
younger than Daniel Webster. 

' Born April 3, 1783 ; on the 19th of the same month Washington proclaimed 
the news of peace in his camp at Newburgh, N. Y. 

"^ "The father of his country." 

^ That is, in England. 

* " Sunnyside :" the railroad station is called Irvington, about twenty-five 
miles from New York city. 



THACKERAY'S CHARACTERIZATION OF IRVING. 



349 



Irving's books were sold by hundreds of thousands — nay, mill- 
ions ; when his profits were known to be large, and the hab- 
its of life of the good old bachelor were notoriously modest 
and simple ? He had loved once in his life. The lady he 
loved died; and he, whom all the world loved, never sought to 
replace her. 

6. I can't say how much the thought of that fidelity has 
touched me. Does not the very cheerfulness of his after-life 
add to the pathos of that untold story ? To grieve always was 
not in his nature ; or, when he had his sorrow, to bring all the 
world in to condole with him and bemoan it. Deep and quiet 
he lays the love of his heart, and buries it, and grass and flowers 
grow over the scarred ground in due time. 

7. Irving had such a small house and such narrow rooms be- 
cause there was a great number of people to occupy them. He 
could only live very modestly because the wifeless, childless man 
had a number of children to whom he was as a father. He had 
as many as nine nieces, I am told — I saw two of these ladies at 
his house — with all of whom the dear old man had shared the 
produce of his labor and genius. ^'' Be a good man, my dear.'' 
One can't but think of these last words of the veteran Chief of 
Letters, who had tasted and tested the value of worldly success, 
admiration, prosperity. Was Irving not good ? and of his works, 
was not his life the best part ? 

8. In his family, gentle, generous, good-humored, affectionate, 
self-denying ; in society, a delightful example of complete gen- 
tlemanhood ; quite unspoiled by prosperity ; never obsequious 
to the great (or, worse still, to the base and mean, as some pub- 
lic men are forced to be in his and other countries); eager to 
acknowledge every contemporary's merit; always kind and af- 
fable with the young members of his calling ; in his professional 
bargains and mercantile dealings delicately honest and grateful. 
He was, at the same time, one of the most charming masters of 
our lighter language ; the constant friend to us and our nation ; 
to men of letters doubly dear, not for his wit and genius merely, 
but as an exemplar of goodness, probity, and a pure life. 



35° 



IRVING. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



[Introduction. — The paper here given is from the Sketch Book, a collec- 
tion of essays written in England during Irving's second visit to that country 
(1815). These were sent home, and, during 1818-19, were published in parts 
in New York.] 

1. On one of those sober and rather melancholy days in the 
latter part of autumn, when the shadows of morning and evening 
almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the decline of 
the year, I passed several hours in rambling about Westminster 
Abbey. There was something congenial * to the season in the s 
mournful magnificence of the old pile; and as I passed its 
threshold, it seemed like stepping back into the regions of an- 
tiquity, and losing myself among the shades of former ages. 

2. I entered from the inner court of Westminster School, 
through a long, low, vaulted passage, that had an almost sub- 10 
terranean look, being dimly lighted in one part by circular per- 
forations in the massive walls. Through this dark avenue I 



Notes. — Lines 4, 5. Westminster Abbey. 

See Addison's paper, page 138, 
note 2. (For " minster " and 
"abbey," see Glossary.) 
9. Westminster Scliool. In the reign 



ster Abbey was made a " colle- 
giate church." Westminster 
School is a part of the colle- 
giate establishment, and is en- 
dowed out of the revenues of 



of Queen Elizabeth, Westmin- the former abbey. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-8. The student will observe the beautiful sim- 
plicity with which the introduction to this paper is made in two sentences. 

1-5. On one . . . Abbey. Grammatically, what kind of sentence .? Rhetori- 
cally, period or loose sentence.'' — What two epithets are applied to "days?" 
Is this a literal or a figurative use of these words? — What fault may be found 
with the expression " mingle together ?" 

5-8. Tliere was . . . ages. Point out an instance of alliteration in this sen- 
tence. — Point out a simile. 

9-27. I entered . . . decay. Notice the admirable variety of sentences (as to 
kind and length) in paragraph 2. — How many sentences ? How many simple ? 
Complex ? Compound ? — What kind of sentence (and that of how many 
members) rounds off the paragraph? — Which sentence brings before the mind 
a vivid picture, and hence \?, picturesque ? 

1 1, 12. Substitute Anglo-Saxon words for the italicized words of Latin origin 
in the phrase "by circiclar perforations in the massive walls." 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



351 



had a distant view of the cloisters,* with the figure of an old 
verger,* in his black gown, moving along their shadowy vaults, 
and seeming like a spectre* from one of the neighboring tombs. 15 
The approach to the abbey through these gloomy monastic re- 
mains prepares the mind for its solemn contemplation. The 
cloisters still retain something of the quiet and seclusion of 
former days. The gray walls are discolored by damps and 
crumbling with age j a coat of hoary moss has gathered over 20 
the inscriptions of the mural * monuments, and obscured the 
death's-heads and other funereal emblems. The sharp touches 
of the chisel are gone from the rich tracery of the arches ; the 
roses which adorned the keystones have lost their leafy beauty ; 
everything bears marks of the gradual dilapidations * of time, 25 
which yet has something touching and pleasing in its very de- 
cay. 

3. The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the 
square of the cloisters, beaming upon a scanty plot of grass in 
the centre, and lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage with 30 
a kind of dusky splendor. From between the arcades the eye 
glanced up to a bit of blue sky or a passing cloud, and beheld 
the sun-gilt pinnacles * of the abbey towering into the azure 
heaven. 



13. cloisters. A cloister is a covered 14. verger, beadle, or attendant, 
arcade forming part of a mo- 19. damps, moisture, 
nastic or collegiate establish- 24. keystones. A keystone is the stone 



ment, surrounding the inner 
quadrangular area of the build- 
ings, with numerous large win- 
dows looking into the quadran- 
gle. 



on the top or middle of an 
arch or vault which binds the 
work. 
square of the cloisters, the inner 
quadrangular area. See note 13. 



Literary Analysis. — 13, cloisters. Etymology? 

22. funereal. Distinguish between the adjectives funereal and funeral. 
(Glossary.) 

22-27. -^ vigorous mode of statement is first to specify and then to general- 
ize. Show how the principle is exemplified in this sentence. 

25. dilapidations. What is the primary signification of dilapidation ? Is 
there a peculiar felicity in its use here ? 



352 



IRVING. 



4. As I paced the cloisters, sometimes contemplating this min- ss 
gled picture of glory and decay, and sometimes endeavoring to 
decipher the inscriptions on the tombstones which formed the 
pavement beneath my feet, my eye was attracted to three figures, 
rudely carved in relief,'but nearly worn away by the footsteps of 
many generations. They were the efifigies*of three of the early 40 
abbots; the epitaphs* were entirely effaced; the names alone 
remained, having no doubt been renewed in later times (Vita- 
lis . Abbas . 1082, and Gislebertus . Crispinus . Abbas . 11 14, 
and Laurentius . Abbas . 1176). I remained some little while 
musing over these casual relics of antiquity, thus left like wrecks 4s 
upon this distant shore of time, telling no tale but that such be- 
ings had been and had perished ; teaching no moral but the futil- 
ity of that pride which hopes still to exact homage * in its ashes, 
and to live in an inscription. A little longer, and even these 
faint records will be obliterated, and the monument will cease to 5° 
be a memorial. 

5. While I was yet looking down upon these gravestones, I 
was roused by the sound of the abbey clock, reverberating from 
buttress* to buttress, and echoing among the cloisters. It is al- 



39. ill relief. A figure /// relief is one 
that projects above or beyond 
the ground or plane on which 
it is formed. Relief is of three 



or representation of a person, 
whether a full figure or a picture 
of the whole or a part, in sculpt- 
ure, bass-relief, etc. 
kinds — high, demi, and low re- 41. abbots, superiors or governors of 
lief. The last, low xoW&i {basso- abbeys. 

rilievo), is where the figure pro- 1 43. Abbas = abbot, 
jects but little ; and in this kind 54. buttress, a projecting support to 
of relief are the figures spoken \ the exterior of a wall, most 

of above. ! commonly applied to churches 

40. ellig'ies. An effigy is a likeness \ in the Gothic style. 

Literary Analysis. — 35-40. As I passed . . . generations. What kind of 
sentence rhetorically? Change into the direct order. 

35, 36. mingled picture of glory and decay. What were the points of glory in 
the " mingled picture .'"' What the features of " decay .?" 

45. casual relies of antiquity. Explain. — left like wrecks, etc. What is the 
figure ? — What fact in the inscription authorizes the phrase "distant shore of 
time ?" 

48. pride which hopes, etc. What is the figure } (See Def. 22.^ 

51. memorial. What is a memorial? Why will the monument "cease to be 
a memorial ?" 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 353 

most startling to hear this warning of departed time sounding ss 
among the tombs, and telHng the lapse of the hour, which, like a 
billow, has rolled us onward towards the grave. I pursued my 
walk to an arched door opening to the interior of the abbey. 
On entering here, the magnitude of the building breaks fully 
upon the mind, contrasted with the vaults * of the cloisters. 60 
The eyes gaze with wonder at clustered columns of gigantic di- 
mensions, with arches springing from them to such an amazing 
height ; and man wandering about their bases shrunk into in- 
significance in comparison with his own handiwork. The spa- 
ciousness and gloom of this vast edifice produce a profound and 65 
mysterious awe.* We step cautiously and softly about, as if 
fearful of disturbing the hallowed silence of the tomb ; while 
every footfall whispers along the walls, and chatters among the 
sepulchres, making us more sensible * of the quiet we have in- 
terrupted.* It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses i° 
down upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into noiseless rev- 
erence. We feel that we are surrounded by the congregated 
bones of the great men of past times, who have filled history with 
their deeds, and the earth with their renown. 

6. And yet it almost provokes a smile at the vanity of human 75 
ambition to see how they are crowded together and jostled in 
the dust : what parsimony is observed in doling * out a scanty 
nook, a gloomy corner, a little portion of earth, to those whom. 



Literary Analysis. — 57. lias rolled. Is this expression literal or meta- 
phorical ? Does a billow roll anything? Is "rolled" the best word then? 
Substitute a better. 

63. and man. Supply the ellipsis. 

66. awe. Discriminate between " awe " and dread and reverence (Glossary, 
" awe "), and show that " awe " is the fitting word here. To the thought 
raised by the word "awe," show what is added by the epithets "profound" 
and "mysterious." 

70. as if. Query as to the use of " if." 

75. it almost provokes, etc. " It " is the anticipative std'ject to provokes : 
what is the full logical subject ? (This instance well illustrates the conven- 
ience of this idiom.) 

77. parsimony. Etymology ? — doling. Etymology ? 

77, 78. How many expressions does Irving employ to denote the small space 
given to each of the dead great ones ? Is this combination chargeable with 
tautology ? Give reasons pro or con. 

23 



354 



IRVING. 



when alive, kingdoms could not satisfy ; and how many shapes 
and forms and artifices are devised to catch the casual notice of so 
the passenger, and save from forgetfulness, for a few short years, 
a name which once aspired to occupy ages of the world's thought 
and admiration. 

7. I passed some time in Poets' Corner, which occupies an 
end of one of the transepts or cross aisles of the abbey. The 85 
monuments are generally simple, for the lives of literary men af- 
ford no striking themes for the sculptor.* Shakespeare and Ad- 
dison have statues erected to their memories ; but the greater part 
have busts, medallions,* and sometimes mere inscriptions. Not- 
withstanding the simplicity of these memorials, I have always 90 
observed that the visitors to the abbey remained longest about 
them. A kinder and fonder feeling takes the place of that 
cold curiosity or vague admiration with which they gaze on the 
splendid monuments of the great and the heroic. They linger 
about these as about the tombs of friends and companions ;* 9s 
for indeed there is something of companionship between the 



84. Poets' Corner. Poets' Corner oc- 
cupies nearly a half of the south 
transept. It is so called from 
the tombs and honorary monu- 
ments of Chaucer (died 1400)^ 
Spenser, Shakespeare, and many 
others of the greatest English 
poets. 

87, 88. Shakespeare and Addison . . „ 
statues. The monument to 
Shakespeare was erected in the 
reign of George II. " Shake- 



speare stands like a sentiment- 
al dandy." — Cunningham : 
Hand-book of London. The 
body of Shakespeare lies in the 
church at Stratford-on-Avon. 
The statue of Addison (by 
Westmacott) was erected 1809; 
his body lies in another part of 
the abbey (Henry VII.'s Chap- 
el). 
89. medallions, circular tablets on 
which figures are embossed. 



Literary Analysis. — 84-110. To what is this paragraph devoted.' — State 
briefly, in your own language, the different feelings with which visitors (of 
sensibility) regard the memorials of illustrious authors and those of the mere- 
ly worldly great. — Explain what is meant by the remark that the intercourse 
between the author and his fellow-men is "ever new," etc. 

88. have. What is the grammatical construction ? 

89-92. Notwithstanding . . . them. Analyze this sentence. 

95. these. What noun does " these " represent .' Is there any ambiguity 
in the reference ? 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



355 



author and the reader. Other men are known to posterity only- 
through the medium of Iiistory, which is continually growing 
faint and obscure ; but the mtercourse between the author and 
his fellow men is ever new, active, and immediate. He has loo 
lived for them more than for himself ; he has sacrificed sur- 
rounding enjoyments, and shut himself up from the delights of 
social life, that he might the more intimately commune * with 
distant minds and distant ages. Well may the world cherish 
his renown ; for it has been purchased, not by deeds of violence 105 
and blood, but by the diligent dispensation of pleasure. Well 
may posterity be grateful to his memory ; for he has left it an 
inheritance, not of empty names and sounding actions, but whole 
treasures of wisdom, bright gems of thought, and golden veins 
of language. no 

8. From Poets' Corner I continued my stroll towards that part 
of the abbey which contains the sepulchres of the kings. I wan- 
dered among what once were chapels,* but which are now occu- 
pied by the tombs and monuments of the great. At every turn 
I met with some illustrious name, or the cognizance* of some 115 
powerful house renowned in history. As the eye darts into 
these dusky chambers of death, it catches glimpses of quaint ef- 
figies ; some kneeling in niches, as if in devotion ; others 
stretched upon the tombs, with hands piously pressed together ; 



10 1, 102. sacrificed suiTOuiiding enjoy- 
ments. Spenser, who is buried 
in the abbey, died in West- 
minster " from lack of bread," 
as is recorded. The same can 
be said of not a few of the 



other illustrious literary men 
who lie in this splendid mauso- 
leum. 
115. cognizance, a badge or other em- 
blem of a noble " house " or 
family. 



Literary Analysis. — 97-100. Otlier men . . . immediate. What is the 
figure ? (See Def. 18.) 

104. Well may the world, etc. How is "well " here made emphatic? 

105. for it has been purchased, etc. Effectiveness is obtained in this sentence 
by a negative form of statement first, and then the positive. 

106-110. Well may. . . language. Remark on the mode of statement with 
reference to the point in the last note. 

112. which contains, etc. Change from an adjective clause to an adjective 
phrase. 

118. some. With what noun is "some" in apposition? 



356 



IRVING. 



warriors in armor, as if reposing after battle ; prelates with cro- 120 
siers * and mitres,* and nobles in robes and coronets,* lying as 
it were in state. In glancing over this scene, so strangely pop- 
ulous, yet where every form is so still and silent, it seems almost 
as if we were treading a mansion of that fabled city where every 
being had been suddenly transmuted into stone. 125 

---9. I paused to contemplate a tomb on which lay the effigy of 
a knight in complete armor. A large buckler was on one arm ; 
the hands were pressed together in supplication upon the breast; 
the face was almost covered by the morion ; the legs were cross- 
ed, in token of the warrior's having been engaged in the holy 130 
war. It was the tomb of a crusader * — of one of those military 
enthusiasts * who so strangely mingled religion and romance,* 
and whose exploits form the connecting-link between fact and fic- 
tion, between the history and the fairy-tale. There is something 
extremely picturesque * in the tombs of these adventurers, decorat- 135 
ed as they are with rude armorial bearings and Gothic sculpture. 
They comport with the antiquated chapels in which they are gen- 
erally found ; and in considering them the imagination is apt to 
kindle with the legendary associations, the romantic fiction, the 



120, 121. crosier, the official staff of 
an archbishop, terminating at 
the top in a cross. — mitre, a cov- 
ering for the head worn on 
solemn occasions by bishops, 
cardinals, abbots, etc. — coronet, 
an inferior crown worn by no- 
blemen. 

124. that fabled city. See Arabian 
Nights' Eutertainine7its. 

127. buckler, a kind of shield or de- 
fensive piece of armor : it was 



often so long as to cover nearly 
the whole body. 

129. morion, a kind of open helmet re- 
sembling a hat. 

131. crusader, a person who went on 
one of the crusades, or expedi- 
tions to Palestine to recover the 
Holy Land from the hands of 
the Saracens. They took place 
during the I2th and 13th centu- 
ries. 

136. armorial bearings, emblems or de- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 122-125. in glancing . . . stone. Period or loose 
sentence ? — Change into the loose order. 

126-157. I paused . . . Tirtuons. Which part of this paragraph is descriptive t 
Which part is reflective ? 

131-134. It was . . . fairy-tale. Analyze this sentence. 

135. adyenturers. Is this word here used in its depreciatory sense ? 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



357 



chivalrous pomp and pageantry, which poetry has spread over the 140 
wars for the sepulchre of Christ. They are the relics of times ut- 
terly gone by, of beings passed from recollection, of customs and 
manners with which ours have no affinity. They are like ob- 
jects from some strange and distant land, of which we have no 
certain knowledge, and about which all our conceptions are 145 
vague and visionary. There is something extremely solemn and 
awful in those effigies on Gothic tombs, extended as if in the 
sleep of death or in the supplication of the dying hour. They 
have an effect infinitely more impressive on my feelings than the 
fanciful attitudes, the overwrought conceits, and allegorical 150 
groups which abound on modern monuments. I have been 
struck, also, with the superiority of many of the old sepulchral 
inscriptions. There was a noble way, in former times, of saying 
things simply, and yet saying them proudly ; and I do not know 
an epitaph that breathes a loftier consciousness of family worth 155 



vices on an escutcheon, or coat 
of arms. — Gothic sculpture. "In 
an era of partial and prejuciiced 
ideas, buildings of this style 
were contemptuously called 
' Gothic,' because it was sup- 
posed that only such barbarians 
as the old Goths could produce 
such works. Latterly, however, 
this Gothic style has won an 
honorable place, and may justly 
bear its old name ; the more so, 
that the experimental names of 
'Teutonic," old Teutonic,' 'Ger- 
man,' or 'pointed-arch style' 



are neither exact nor exhaust- 
ive." — LiJBKE: Hist07'y of Art, 
ii., 5. 
155. an epitaph, etc. In a Spectator 
paper, Addison writes more 
fully: "I am very much pleased 
with a passage in the inscrip- 
tion on a monument to the late 
Duke and Duchess of New- 
castle. ' Her name was Mar- 
garet Lucas, younger sister to 
the Lord Lucas of Colchester, 
a noble family; for all the 
brothers were valiant,' and all 
the sisters virtuous.' " 



Literary Analysis. — 140. which poetry has spread, etc. Do you know of 
any famous Italian poem on the crusades ? What modern novelist has thrown 
around them the colors of romance ? 

146. vague and visionary. Note alliteration. What is the precise meaning 
of " visionary " as here used ? 

150. overwrought conceits. Explain. 



' Irving has miscopied the word as " brave " — perhaps an instance of what 
is sometimes called heterophemy. 



358 



IRVING. 



and honorable lineage* than one which affirms of a noble house 
that "all the brothers were brave, and all the sisters virtuous." 

ID. In the opposite transept to Poets' Corner stands a monu- 
ment which is among the most renowned achievements of modern 
art, but which to me appears horrible rather than sublime. It is i6o 
the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale, by Roubillac. The bottom of the 
monument is represented as throwing open its marble doors, and 
a sheeted skeleton is starting forth. The shroud is falling from 
his fleshless frame as he launches his dart at his victim. She is 
sinking into her affrighted husband's arms, who strives, with vain 165 
and frantic effort, to avert the blow. The whole is executed with 
terrible truth and spirit ; we almost fancy we hear the gibbering 
yell of triumph bursting from the distended jaws of the spectre. 
But why should we thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary 
terrors, and to spread horrors round the tomb of those we love ? 170 
The grave should be surrounded by everything that might in- 
spire tenderness and veneration for the dead, or that might win 
the living to virtue. It is the place, not of disgust and dismay, 
but of sorrow and meditation. 

11. While wandering about these gloomy vaults and silent 17s 
aisles, studying the records of the dead, the sound of busy exist- 
ence from without occasionally reaches the ear — the rumbling of 
the passing equipage, the murmur of the multitude, or perhaps 
the light laugh of pleasure. The contrast is striking with the 
deathlike repose around ; and it has a strange effect upon the iSo 
feelings, thus to hear the surges* of active life hurrying along, 
and beating against the very walls of the sepulchre. 

12. I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, and 
from chapel to chapel. The day was gradually wearing away; 
the distant tread of loiterers about the abbey grew less and less 185 
frequent; the sweet-tongued bell was summoning to evening 



161. tomb of Mrs. Nightingale, by Rou- 
billac. The monument is, in 
point of fact, to Mr. and Mrs. 
Nightingale. Mrs. Nightingale 
{nee Lady Elizabeth Shirley) 
was the wife of Joseph Gas- 



coigne Nightingale. — Louis 
Francois Roubillac (1695-1762) 
was a distinguished French 
monumental sculptor, most of 
whose life was passed in Eng- 
land. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



359 



prayers ; and I saw at a distance the choristers,* in their white 
surplices,* crossing the aisle and entering the choir. I stood 
before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's Chapel. A flight of 
steps leads up to it, through a deep and gloomy but magnificent 190 
arch. Great gates of brass, richly and delicately wrought, turn 
heavily upon their hinges, as if proudly reluctant to admit the 
feet of common mortals into this most gorgeous of sepulchres. 

13., On entering, the eye is astonished by the pomp of archi- 
tecture and the elaborate beauty of sculptured detail. The very 195 
walls are wrought into universal ornament, incrusted with tracery, 
and scooped into niches, crowded with the statues of saints and 
martyrs. Stone seems, by the cunning labor of the chisel, to have 
been robbed of its weight and density, suspended aloft, as if by 
magic, and the fretted roof achieved with the wonderful minute- 200 
ness and airy security of a cobweb. 

14. Along the sides of the chapel are the lofty stalls of the 
Knights of the Bath, richly carved of oak, though with the gro- 
tesque* decorations of Gothic architecture. On the pinnacles 
of the stalls are affixed the helmets and crests of the knights, 205 
with their scarfs and swords ; and above them are suspended 



191, 



188. choristers . . . surplices. 

" Chorister,'' one of a choir (not 
necessarily one who leads a 
choir — the sense in the United 
States). " Surplice," a white 
over -gTiXxutni. 

Henry the Seventh's Chapel. It is 
sometimes called the Chapel of 
the Virgin Mary. " The en- 
trance gates are of oak, orna- 
mented with brass, gilt, and 
wrought into various devices. 
The chapel consists of a central 
aisle, with five small chapels at 
the east end, and two side aisles 
north and south." — Cunning- 
ham. 

gates of brass. Not literally ac- 
curate (see preceding note for 
the precise details). 

fretted. See Gray's Elegy, page 



199, line 39, of this book, and 
compare his "fretted vault." 
203. Knights of the Bath, " The ban- 
ners and stalls appertain to the 
Knights of the Most Honora- 
ble Military Order of the Bath, 
an order of merit next in rank, 
in this country, to the Most 
Noble Order of the Garter : the 
knights were formerly installed 
in this chapel." — Murray: 
Hand-book of London. "Knights 
of the Bath " are found in the 
early history of the English 
sovereignty, being persons who 
were made knights in some pe- 
culiar manner, of which bathing 
constituted a part of the cere- 
mony — the occasion being a 
coronation, royal marriages, etc. 
— Penny Cyclopadia. 



360 IRVING. 

their banners, emblazoned with armorial bearings, and contrast- 
ing the splendor of gold and purple and crimson with the cold 
gray fretwork of the roof. In the midst of this grand mauso- 
leum* stands the sepulchre of its founder — his efhgy, with that 210 
of his queen, extended on a sumptuous tomb, and the whole sur- 
rounded by a superbly wrought brazen railing. 

15. There is a sad dreariness in this magnificence ; this strange 
mixture of tombs and trophies ; these emblems of living and as- 
piring ambition, close beside mementos which show the dust and 215 
oblivion in which all must, sooner or later, terminate. Nothing 
impresses the mind with a deeper feeling of loneliness than to 
tread the silent and deserted scene of former throng and pageant. 
On looking round on the vacant stalls of the knights and their 
esquires,* and on the rows of dusty but gorgeous banners that 220 
were once borne before them, my imagination conjured up the 
scene when this hall was bright with the valor and beauty of the 
land, glittering with the splendor of jewelled rank and military 
array, alive with the tread of many feet and the hum of an ad- 
miring multitude. All had passed away \ the silence of death 225 
had settled again upon the place, interrupted only by the casual 
chirping of birds which had found their way into the chapel, and 
built their nests among its friezes and pendants * — sure signs of 
solitariness and desertion. 

16. When I read the names inscribed on the banners, they 230 
were those of men scattered far and wide about the world ; some 
tossing upon distant seas, some under arms in distant lands, some 
mingling in the busy intrigues of courts and cabinets ; all seek- 
ing to deserve one more distinction in this mansion of shadowy 
honors — the melancholy reward of a monument. 235 

17. Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a 



207. emblazoned, adorned with figures 
of heraldry. 

209, 210. mausoleum, splendid tomb. — 
sepulchre of its founder : that is, 
the altar-tomb of Henry VII. 
with effigies of himself and 
queen. The work is by Tor- 
rigiano, an Italian sculptor, and 
Lord Bacon calls it " one of the 



stateliest and daintiest tombs 
of Europe." 
228. friezes. The "frieze," in archi- 
tecture, is "that part of the en- 
tablature [i. e., the part over the 
columns, and including the ar- 
chitrave, frieze, and cornice] of 
a column which is between the 
architrave and cornice." 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 



^6 1 



touching instance of the equality of the grave, which brings down 
the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, and mingles the dust 
of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepulchre of the 
haughty Elizabeth ; in the other is that of her victim, the lovely 240 
and unfortunate Mary. Not an hour in the day but some ejacula- 
tion of pity is uttered over the fate of the latter, mingled with in- 
dignation at her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth's sepulchre 
continually echo with the sighs of sympathy heaved at the grave 
of her rival. 245 

18. A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary 
lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows darkened 
by dust. The greater part of the place is in deep shadow, and 
the walls are stained and tinted by time and weather. A marble 
figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, round which is an 250 
iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem — the 
thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat down to rest my- 
self by the monument, revolving in my mind the checkered and 
disastrous story of poor Mary. 

19. The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the abbey. 255 
I could only hear, now and then, the distant voice of the priest 
repeating the evening service, and the faint responses of the 
choir ; these paused for a time, and all was hushed. The still- 
ness, the desertion and obscurity, that were gradually prevailing 
around gave a deeper and more solemn interest to the place : 260 

" For in the silent grave no conversation, 
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of lovers, 
No careful father's counsel — nothing 's heard, 
For nothing is, but all oblivion, 
Dust, and an endless darkness." 265 

Suddenly the notes of the deep-laboring organ burst upon the 
ear, falling with doubled and redoubled intensity, and rolling, as 
it were, huge billows of sound. How well do their volume and 
grandeur accord with this mighty building ! With what pomp do 



240. Elizabeth reigned from 1558 (eight 

years before the birth of Shake- 
speare) till 1603. 

241. unfortunate Mary: that is, Mary 

Queen of Scots (born 1542 ; be- 



headed 1587). Her body was 
buried here by her son, James I. 
(James VI. of Scotland), after 
he became king of England, on 
the death of Queen Elizabeth. 



362 



IRVING. 



they swell through its vast vaults, and breathe their awful har- 270 
mony through these caves of death, and make the silent sepulchre 
vocal ! And now they rise in triumphant acclamation, heaving 
higher and higher their accordant notes, and piling sound on 
sound. And now they pause, and the soft voices of the choir 
break out into sweet gushes of melody. They soar aloft, and war- 275 
ble along the roof, and seem to play about these lofty vaults like 
the pure airs of heaven. Again the pealing organ heaves its 
thrilling thunders, compressing air into music, and rolling it forth 
upon the soul. What long-drawn cadences! What solemn, 
sweeping concords ! It grows more and more dense and power- 2S0 
ful ; it fills the vast pile, and seems to jar the very walls. The 
ear is stunned, the senses are overwhelmed. And now it is wind- 
ing up in full jubilee; it is rising from the earth to heaven. The 
very soul seems rajDt away and floated upwards on this swelling 
tide of harmony ! 285 

20. I sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie* which a 
strain of music is apt sometimes to inspire. The shadows of 
evening were gradually thickening round me; the monuments 
began to cast deeper and deeper gloom ; and the distant clock 
again gave token of the slowly waning day. 290 

21. I rose and prepared to leave the abbey. As I descended 
the flight of steps which leads into the body of the building, my 
eye was caught by the shrine of Edward the Confessor, and I 
ascended the small staircase that conducts to it, to take from 
thence a general survey of this wilderness of tombs. The shrine 295 
is elevated upon a kind of platform, and close around it are the 
sepulchres of various kings and queens. From this eminence 
the eye looks down between pillars and funereal trophies to the 
chapels and chambers below, crowded with tombs, where war- 
riors, prelates, courtiers, and statesmen lie mouldering in their 3°° 
" beds of darkness." Close by me stood the great chair of coro- 
nation, rudely carved of oak, in the barbarous taste of a remote 
and Gothic age. The scene seemed almost as if contrived with 



293. the shrine of Edward the Confessor. 

Edward the Confessor (reigned 
1041-1065). 



301, 302. chair of coronation. (See Ad- 
dison's paper, page 138, note 
2.) 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 363 

theatrical artifice to produce an effect upon the beholder. Here 
was a type of the beginning and the end of human pomp and 305 
power ; here it was literally but a step from the throne to the 
sepulchre. Would not one think that these incongruous* me- 
mentos had been gathered together as a lesson to living great- 
ness — to show it, even in the moment of its proudest exaltation, 
the neglect and dishonor to which it must soon arrive; how soon 310 
that crown which encircles its brow must pass away, and it must 
lie down in the dust and disgraces of the tomb, and be trampled 
upon by the feet of the meanest of the multitude ? For, strange 
to tell, even the grave is here no longer a sanctuary.* There is 
a shocking levity* in some natures, which leads them to sport s's 
with awful and hallowed things ; and there are base minds which 
delight to revenge on the illustrious dead the abject homage and 
grovelling servility which they pay to the living. The coffin of 
Edward the Confessor has been broken open, and his remains 
despoiled of their funereal ornaments ; the sceptre has been 320 
stolen from the hand of the imperious Elizabeth, and the effigy 
of Henry the Fifth lies headless. Not a royal monument but 
bears some proof how false and fugitive is the homage of man- 
kind. Some are plundered, some mutilated ; some covered 
with ribaldry* and insult — all more or less outraged and dis-3=5 
honored ! 

22. The last beams of day were now faintly streaming through 
the painted windows in the high vaults above me ; the lower 
parts of the abbey were already wrapped in the obscurity of 
twilight. The chapel and aisles grew darker and darker. The 330 
effigies of the kings faded into shadows ; the marble figures of 
the monuments assumed strange shapes in the uncertain light; 
the evening breeze crept through the aisles like the cold breath 
of the grave ; and even the distant footfall of a verger, traversing 
the Poets' Corner, had something strange and dreary in its sound. 335 
I slowly retraced my morning's walk, and as I passed out at the 
portal of the cloisters, the door, closing with a jarring noise be- 
hind me, filled the whole building with echoes. 

23.1 endeavored to form some arrangement in my mind of the 



321, 322. eJBBgy ... headless. See Addison's paper, page 142, line 95, and 
note. 



3^4 



IRVING. 



objects I had been contemplating, but found they were already 340 
fallen into indistinctness and confusion. Names, inscriptions, 
trophies, had all become confounded in my recollection, though 
I had scarcely taken my foot from off the threshold. What, 
thought I, is this vast assemblage of sepulchres but a treasury 
of humiliation, a huge pile of reiterated homilies* on the empti-345 
ness of renown and the certainty of oblivion ! It is, indeed, the 
empire of Death — his great shadowy palace, where he sits in 
state, mocking at the relics of human glory, and spreading dust 
and forgetfulness on the monuments of princes. How idle a 
boast, after all, is the immortality of a name ! Time is ever si- 35° 
lently turning over his pages ; we are too much engrossed by the 
story of the present to think of the characters and anecdotes 
that gave interest to the past ; and each age is a volume thrown 
aside to be speedily forgotten. The idol of to-day pushes the 
hero of yesterday out of our recollection ; and will, in turn, be 35s 
supplanted by his successor of to-morrow. " Our fathers," says 
Sir Thomas Browne, "find their graves in our short memories, 
and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors." 
History fades into fable ; fact becomes clouded with doubt and 
controversy ; the inscription moulders from the tablet ; the statue 360 
falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids — what are 
they but heaps of sand, and their epitaphs but characters written 
in the dust ? What is the security of a tomb, or the perpetuity 
of an embalmment .-' The remains of Alexander the Great have 
been scattered to the winds, and his empty sarcophagus is now 36s 
the mere curiosity of a museum. " The Egyptian mummies. 



357. Sir Thomas Browne (born 1605 ; 
knighted by Charles II. 1672 ; 
died 1682), a physician and 
eminent writer (principal works 
Religio Medici, Vtdgar or Com- 
mon Errors, and the treatise on 
Ur7i Burial). 

364. Alexander the Great. See Dryden's 
Alexander's Feast, page 103, and 
note. 



366, 367. Eg'yptlan . . . consunieth. Mum- 
mies (dead bodies embalmed) 
were, during the Middle Ages, 
much used in medicine, on ac- 
count of the aromatic substances 
they contained. " The virtues 
of mummy seem to have been 
chiefly imaginary, and even the 
traffic fraudulent." — Nares : 
Glossuiy. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 365 

which Cambyses or tune hath spared, avarice now consumeth; 
Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams." 

24. What, then, is to insure this pile which now towers above 
me from sharing the fate of mightier mausoleums ? The time 37° 
must come when its gilded vaults, which now spring so loftily, 
shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet ; when, instead of the sound 
of melody and praise, the wind shall whistle through the broken 
arches, and the owl hoot from the shattered tower — when the 
garish sunbeam shall break into these gloomy mansions of death, 37s 
and the ivy twine round the fallen column, and the foxglove hang 
its blossoms about the nameless urn, as if in mockery of the dead. 
Thus man passes away ; his name perishes from record and recol- 
lection ; his history is as a tale that is told, and his very monu- 
ment becomes a ruin ! 380 



367. Camby'ses, son of Darius, and i 368. Mizraim (the native name of Egypt) 



King of Persia (reigned B.C. 
529-522). He conquered Egypt; 
hence the force of "spared," 
etc. 



= any King of Egypt — a signi- 
fication intended also by Pha- 
raoh (a general name, like 
"Caesar"). 



XXIV. 

THOMAS DE OUINCEY. 

1785-1859. 




^ac^^fuf-^ 9t-~^^ 



cun^c 



CHARACTERIZATION BY LESLIE STEPHEN.* 

I. One may fancy that if De Quincey's language were emptied of 
all meaning whatever, the mere sound of the words would move 
us, as the lovely word Mesopotamia moved Whitefield's hearers. 

' From Hours in a Library, by Leslie Stephen. 



STEPHEN'S CHARACTERIZATION OF DE QUINCE Y. 367 

The sentences are so delicately balanced, and so skilfully con- 
structed, that his finer passages fix themselves in the memory 
without the aid of metre. Humbler writers are content if they 
can get through a single phrase without producing a decided jar. 
They aim at keeping vip a steady jog-trot, which shall not give 
actual pain to the jaws of the readers. Even our great writers 
generally settle down to a stately but monotonous gait, after the 
fashion of Johnson or Gibbon, or are content with adopting a 
style as transparent and inconspicuous as possible. Language, 
according to the common phrase, is the dress of thought; and 
that dress is the best, according to modern canons of taste, which 
attracts least attention from its wearer. 

2. De Quincey scorns this sneaking maxim of prudence, and 
boldly challenges our admiration by appearing in the richest 
coloring that can be got out of the dictionary. His language 
deserves a commendation sometimes bestowed by ladies upon 
rich garments, that it is capable of standing up by itself. The 
form is so admirable that, for purposes of criticism, we must con- 
sider it as something apart from the substance. The most ex- 
quisite passages in De Quincey's writings are all more or less 
attempts to carry out the idea expressed in the title of the dream 
fugue. They are intended to be musical compositions, in which 
words have to play the part of notes. They are impassioned, not 
in the sense of expressing any definite sentiment, but because, 
from the structure and combination of the sentences, they har- 
monize with certain phases of emotion. It is in the success with 
which he produces such effects as these that De Quincey may 
fairly claim to be almost, if not quite, unrivalled in our language. 

3. It would be difficult or impossible, and certainly it would be 
superfluous, to define with any precision the peculiar flavor of De 
Quincey's style. The chemistry of critics has not yet succeeded 
in resolving any such product into its constituent elements; nor, 
if it could, should we be much nearer to understanding their 
effect in combination. 

4. A few specimens would do more than any description; and 
De Quincey is too well known to justify quotation. It maybe 
enough to notice that most of his brilliant performances are varia- 
tions on the same theme. He appeals to our terror of the infi- 
nite, to the shrinking of the human mind before astronomical 



368 DE QUINCE Y. 

distances and geological periods of time. He paints vast per- 
spectives, opening in long succession, till we grow dizzy in the 
contemplation. The cadences of his style suggest sounds echo- 
ing each other, and growing gradually fainter, till they die away 
into infinite distance. Two great characteristics, as he tells us, 
of his opium dreams were a deep-seated melancholy and an ex- 
aggeration of the things of space and time. Nightly he descend- 
ed into chasms and sunless abysses, depths below depths, from 
which it seemed hopeless that he could ever reascend. He saw 
buildings and landscapes in "proportion so vast as the human 
eye is not fitted to receive." He seemed to live ninety or a hun- 
dred years in a night, and even to pass through periods far be- 
yond the limits of human existence. Melancholy and an awe- 
stricken sense of the vast and vague are the emotions which he 
communicates with the greatest power; though the melancholy 
is too dreamy to deserve the name of passion, and the terror of 
the infinite is not explicitly connected with any religious emotion. 
It is a proof of the fineness of his taste, that he scarcely ever 
falls into bombast. We tremble at his audacity in accumulating 
gorgeous phrases; but we confess that he is justified by the re- 
sult. I know of no other modern writer who has soared into the 
same regions with so uniform and easy a flight. 



L_ON THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE IN MACBETH. 

[Introduction. — The following paper, which is given entire, is from De 
Quincey's Miscellaneous Essays. It well illustrates some of the most notable 
characteristics of his literary art — his subtlety, sometimes attenuated to super- 
fineness, his minute explicitness of statement, his digressions and " returns," 
irrelevant but always interesting, and his admirable skill in the niceties of sen- 
tential structure. The higher qualities of his impassioned prose are exempli- 
fied in the second extract.] 

I. From my boyish days I had always felt a great perplexity 
on one point in Macbeth. It was this : the knocking at the gate 



Literary Analysis. — 1-8. The first paragraph exemplifies De Quincey's 
tendency to "minute explicitness of statement." (See Introduction.') He had 
felt great perplexity "on one point.^^ "It was this.'''' "Produced an effect." 
" The effect was" etc. 

2. the knocking. See Macbeth, act ii., scene 3. 



ON THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE IN MACBETH. 369 

which succeeds to the murder of Duncan produced to my feel- 
ings an effect for which I never could account. The effect was 
that it reflected back upon the murder a peculiar awfulness and s 
a depth of solemnity; yet, however I endeavored with my under- 
standing to comprehend this, for many years I could never see 
why it should produce such an effect. 

2. Here I pause for one moment to exhort the reader never to 
pay any attention to his understanding when it stands in oppo- 10 
sition to any other faculty of his mind. The mere understand- 
ing, however useful, is the meanest faculty in the human mind, 
and the most to be distrusted; and yet the great majority of peo- 
ple trust nothing else ; which may do for ordinary life, but not 
for philosophical purposes. Of this, out of ten thousand instances 15 
that I might produce, I will cite one. Ask any person whatsoever, 
who is not previously prepared for the demand by a knowledge 
of perspective, to draw in the rudest way the commonest appear- 
ance which depends upon the law of that science; as, for instance, 
to represent the effect of two walls standing at right angles to 20 
each other, or the appearance of the houses on each side of a 
street, as seen by a person looking down the street from one ex- 
tremity. Now, in all cases, unless the person has happened to 
observe in pictures how it is that artists produce these effects, he 
will be utterly incapable to make the smallest approximation to 25 
it. Yet why .-* For he has actually seen the effect every day of 
his life. The reason is — that he allows his understanding- to 



Literary Analysis. — 5. it. What noun does "it" represent ? 

5, 6. awfulness . . . solemnity. Discriminate between these synonyms. 

6, 7. understanding. The term is here used in a specific sense as contrasted 
with reason. For this technical use of the word " understanding," see Web- 
ster's Unabridged. 

g-44. The whole of paragraph 2 is a digression, as will be seen by the nat- 
ure of the connective introducing paragraph 3. State in a general way the 
substance of this digression. — What is the author's aim in inducing the reader 
not to trust to the mere " understanding ?" 

12. meanest. Force of the epithet as here used? 

15, 16. Of this . . . one. What kind of sentence rhetorically? — What figure 
of speech is exemplified in the expression "ten thousand?" (See Def. 3-t.) 

25. to make. Remark on this form of expression. 

26. Tet why? For. Supply the ellipsis after "why" and before "for." 

27. reason is—. The dash is De Quincey's own : what effect do you sup- 
pose he wishes to produce by its use ? 

24 



37 o DE QUINCE Y. 

overrule his eyes. His understanding, which includes no intu- 
itive knowledge of the laws of vision, can furnish him with no 
reason why a line, which is known and can be proved to be a 3° 
horizontal line, should not appear a horizontal line. A line that 
made any angle with the perpendicular less than a right angle 
would seem to him to indicate that his houses were all tumbling 
down together. Accordingly, he makes the line of his houses a 
horizontal line, and fails, of course, to produce the effect de-35 
manded. Here, then, is one instance out of many, in which not 
only the understanding is allowed to overrule the eyes, but where 
the understanding is positively allowed to obliterate the eyes, as 
it were ; for not only does the man believe the evidence of his un- 
derstanding in opposition to that of his eyes, but (what is mon- 4° 
strous !) the idiot is not aware that his eyes ever gave such evi- 
dence. He does not know that he has seen (and, therefore, quoad 
his consciousness has not seen) that which he has seen every day 
of his life. 

3. But to return from this digression. My understanding could 45 
furnish no reason why the knocking at the gate in Macbeth should 
produce any effect, direct or reflected. In fact, my understand- 
ing said positively that it could not produce any effect. But I 
knew better. I felt that it did; and I waited and clung to the 
problem until further knowledge should enable me to solve it. 50 
At length, in 18 12, Mr. Williams made his debut on the stage of 
Ratcliffe Highway, and executed those unparalleled murders 
which have procured for him such a brilliant and undying repu- 
tation. On which murders, by the way, I must observe that in 



Literary Analysis. — 28-36. His understanding . . . demanded. State in 
your own language the nature of the author's reasoning. 

42, 43. quoad his consciousness, as regards his consciousness. 

51. Mr. Williams made, etc. The reference is to several murders committed in 
London by a certain Williams — murders described with great power by De Quin- 
cey in a series of papers under the title of Murder Considered as a Fine Art. 

51-54. oade his debut. . . reputation. What is the figure of speech? — To 
appreciate fully the force of the grim humor in the epithets used by the author 
in speaking of these murders, the papers referred to in the preceding note 
should be read. 

54-62. On which murders . . . Williams. Remark on the expressions " con- 
noisseur in murder;" "amateur" (in murder); "great artists" (in murder). 
— Ladicate how, in this passage, the strain of irony is kejDt up. 



ON THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE IN MACBETH. 



571 



one respect they have had an ill effect by making the connois- ss 
seur in murder very fastidious in his taste, and dissatisfied by 
anything that has been since done in that line. All other mur- 
ders look pale by the deep crimson of his; and, as an amateur 
once said to me, in a querulous tone, " There has been absolutely 
nothing doing since his time, or nothing that's worth speaking 60 
of." But this is wrong; for it is unreasonable to expect all men 
to be great artists, and born with the genius of Mr. Williams. 
Now it will be remembered that in the first of these murders 
(that of the Marrs) the same incident (of knocking at the door 
soon after the work of extermination was complete) did actually 65 
occur, which the genius of Shakespeare has invented ; and all 
good judges, and the most eminent dilettanti, acknowledged the 
felicity of Shakespeare's suggestion as soon as it was actually 
realized. Here, then, was a fresh proof that I was right in rely- 
ing on my own feelings in opposition to my understanding ; and 7° 
I again set myself to study the problem. At length I solved it 
to my own satisfaction ; and the solution is this : Murder, in or- 
dinary cases, where the sympathy is wholly direct€d to the case 
of the murdered person, is an incident of coarse and vulgar hor- 
ror; and for this reason, that it flings the interest exclusively 75 
upon the natural but ignoble instinct by which we cleave to life ; 
an instinct, which, as being indispensable to the primal law of 
self-preservation, is the same in kind (though different in degree) 
amongst all living creatures. This instinct, therefore, because it 
annihilates all distinctions, and degrades the greatest of men to 80 
the level of "the poor beetle that we tread on," exhibits human 
nature in its most abject and humiliating attitude. Such an at- 
titude would little suit the purposes of the poet. What, then, 
must he do ? He must throw the interest on the murderer. Our 
sympathy must be with him (of course I mean a sympathy of 85 



Literary Analysis. — 67. good judges ... dilettanti. Explain why these 
expressions are used. 

71. At length, etc. Point out here an illustration of De Quincey's explicit- 
ness of statement. 

81. the poor ... on. The quotation is from Shakespeare : is it quite accu- 
rately made ? 

85-88. sympathy . . . approbation. Give the nice distinction which the author 
makes as to the kind of "sympathy" he is referring to. 



372 I^E QUINCE Y. 

comprehension, a sympathy by which we enter into his feelings, 
and are made to understand them — not a sympathy of pity or 
approbation). In the murdered person all strife of thought, all 
flux and reflux of passion and of purpose, are crushed by an over- 
whelming panic; the fear of instant death strikes him "with its 90 
petrific * mace." But in the murderer, such a murderer as a poet 
will condescend to, there must be raging some great storm of pas- 
sion — jealousy, ambition, vengeance, hatred — which will create a 
hell within him; and into this hell we are to look. 

4. In Macbeth, for the sake of gratifying his own enormous 95 
and teeming faculty of creation, Shakespeare has introduced 
two murderers; and, as usual in his hands, they are remarkably 
discriminated; but, though in Macbeth the strife of mind is 
greater than in his wife, the tiger spirit not so awake, and his 
feeling caught chiefly by contagion from her — yet, as both are 100 
finally involved in the guilt of murder, the murderous mind of 
necessity is finally to be presumed in both. This was to be ex- 
pressed ; and on its own account, as well as to make it a more 
proportionable antagonist to the unoffending nature of their vic- 
tim, "the gracious Duncan," and adequately to expound "the 105 
deep damnation of his taking off," this was to be expressed with 
peculiar energy. We were to be made to feel that the human 
nature — i. e., the divine nature of love and mercy, spread through 
the hearts of all creatures, and seldom utterly withdrawn from 
man — was gone, vanished, extinct ; and that the fiendish nature no 
had taken its place. And, as this effect is marvellously accom- 
plished in the dialogues and soliloquies themselves, so it is finally 



Literary Analysis. — 91. petrific. Etymology of the word? 

93. 94. will create a hell, etc. What is the figure of speech ? 

94. and into this hell we are to loot. Remark on the order of words. What 
effect is gained ? 

95. In Macbeth, etc. Is the structure of the sentence periodic or loose ? 
95, 96. gratifying . . . creation. Observe the power of the expression. 
97. two murderers : that is, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. 

99. the tiger spirit. What is the figure of speech in this epithet? 

100. Point out a powerful phrase in this line. 

103, 104. to make . . . antagonist. Express in other words. 

no. gone, vanished, extinct. What is the effect of this employment of three 
synonymous verbs? — Notice that the combination is the more energetic from 
the absence of conjunctions (asyndeton). 



ON THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE IN MACBETH. 3y3 

consummated by the expedient under consideration ; and it is 
to this that I now solicit the reader's attention. 

5. If the reader has ever witnessed a wife, a daugliter, or sis- 115 
ter in a fainting fit, lie may chance to have observed that the 
most affecting moment in such a spectacle is that in which a 
sigh and a stirring announce the recommencement of suspended 
life. Or if the reader has ever been present in a vast metropo- 
lis on the day when some great national idol was carried in 120 
funeral pomp to his grave, and chancing to walk near the course 
through which it passed, has felt powerfully, in the desertion and 
silence of the streets, and in the stagnation of ordinary business, 
the deep interest which at that moment was possessing the 
heart of man — if all at once he should hear the deathlike still- 125 
ness broken up by the sounds of wheels rattling away from the 
scene, and making known that the transitory vision was dis- 
solved, he will be aware that at no moment was his sense of the 
complete suspension and pause in ordinary human concerns so 
full and affecting as at that moment when the suspension ceases, 130 
and the goings-on of human life are suddenly resumed. All ac- 
tion in any direction is best expounded, measured, and made ap- 
prehensible by reaction. 

6. Now apply this to the case in Macbeth. Here, as I have 
said, the retiring of the human heart and the entrance of the 135 
fiendish heart was to be expressed and made sensible. An- 
other world has stepped m ; and the murderers are taken out of 
the region of human things, human purposes, human desires. 
They are transfigured : Lady Macbeth is " unsexed ;" Macbeth 
has forgot that he was born of woman ; both are conformed to 140 
the image of devils ; and the world of devils is suddenly re- 
vealed. But how shall this be conveyed and made palpable.?* 



Literary Analysis. — 115-119. if . . . life. What kind of sentence gram- 
matically ? Rlietorically ? 

119-131. Or if. . . resumed. Is this a period or a loose sentence? — Point 
out striking expressions in this sentence. 

134-159. Paragraph 6 presents an excellent study in variety of sentences — 
variety of length and of type, grammatical and rhetorical. Pupils may indi- 
cate the various kinds of sentence in this paragraph. 

136. sensible. Meaning ? 

140. lias forgot. Query as to this form. 



374 DE QUINCE Y. 

In order that a new world may step in, this world must for a 
time disappear. The murderers, and the murder, must be insu- 
lated — cut off by an immeasurable gulf from the ordinary tide i4S 
and succession of human affairs — locked up and sequestered in 
some deep recess ; we must be made sensible that the world of 
ordinary life is suddenly arrested — laid asleep — tranced — racked 
into a dread armistice ; time must be annihilated ; relation to 
things without abolished;"* and all must pass self-withdrawn into 15° 
a deep syncope and suspension of earthly passion. Hence it is 
that, when th^ deed is clone, when the work of darkness is per- 
fect, then the world of darkness passes away like a pageantry in 
the clouds : the knocking at the gate is heard : and it makes 
known audibly that the reaction has commenced : the human has 15s 
made its reflux upon the fiendish ; the pulses of life are beginning 
to beat again ; and the re-establishment of the goings-on of the 
world in which we live first makes us profoundly sensible of the 
awful parenthesis that had suspended them. 

7. O, mighty poet ! Thy works are not as those of other men, 160 
simply and merely great works of art; but are also like the 
phenomena of nature, like the sun and the sea, the stars and 
the flowers — like frost and snow, rain and dew, hail-storm and 
thunder, which are to be studied with entire submission of our 
own faculties, and in the perfect faith that in them there can be 165 
no too much or too little, nothing useless or inert* — but that, the 
farther we progress in our discoveries, the more we shall see 
proofs of design and self-supporting arrangement where the 
careless eye had seen nothing but accident ! 



Literary Analysis. — 144, 145. must be insulated. By what two variant 
forms of expression does De Quincey amplify the idea here expressed? 
148. is suddenly arrested. What variations are made on this statement ? 

151. syncope and suspension. Discriminate between these synonyms. 

152. when the deed is done. How is this expression varied? — Are such 
repetitions chargeable with tautology, or are they justified as examples of ar- 
tistic fulness and elaboration ? 

160-169. What figure is exemplified in the last paragraph? (See Def 23.) 
— Give in your own words the substance of the paragraph. 



A DREAM FUGUE. 



II.— A DREAM FUGUE. 



375 



1. Then suddenly would come a dream of far different char- 
acter — a tumultuous dream, commencing with a music such as 
now I often heard in sleep, music of preparation and of awak- 
ening suspense. The undulations of fast-gathering tumults were 
like the Coronation Anthem ; and, like that, gave the feeling of s 
a multitudinous movement, of infinite cavalcades filing off, and 
the tread of innumerable armies. The morning was come of a 
mighty day — a day of crisis and of ultimate hope for human nat- 
ure, then suffering mysterious eclipse, and laboring in some 
dread extremity. Somewhere, but I knew not where — some- lo 
how, but I knew not how — by some beings, but I knew not by 
whom — a battle, a strife, an agony, was travelling through all its 
stages — was evolving itself, like the catastrophe of some mighty 
drama, with which my sympathy was the more insupportable 
from deepening confusion as to its local scene, its cause, its nat- is 
ure, and its undecipherable issue. I (as is usual in dreams 
where, of necessity, we make ourselves central to every move- 
ment) had the power, and yet had not the power, to decide it. I 
had the power, if I could raise myself to will it ; and yet again 
had not the power, for the weight of twenty Atlantics was upon 20 
me, or the oppression of inexpiable guilt. " Deeper than ever 
plummet sounded," I lay inactive. Then, like a chorus, the 
passion deepened. Some greater interest was at stake, some 
mightier cause, than ever yet the sword had pleaded, or trumpet 
had" proclaimed. Then came sudden alarms ; hurryings to and 25 
fro, trepidations of innumerable fugitives ; I knew not whether 
from the good cause or the bad ; darkness and lights ; tempest 
and human faces ; and at last, with the sense that all was lost, 
female forms, and the features that were worth all the world to 
me ; and but a moment allowed — and clasped hands, with heart- 30 
breaking partings, and then — everlasting farewells ! and, with a 
sigh such as the caves of hell sighed when the incestuous moth- 
er uttered the abhorred name of Death, the sound was reverber- 
ated — everlasting farewells ! and again, and yet again reverber- 
ated — everlasting farewells ! ss 

2. And I awoke in struggles, and cried aloud, " I will sleep no 
more !" 



XXV. 

GEORGE GORDON BYRON. 

1788-1824. 




CHARACTERIZATION BY TAINE.^ 

1. Byron was a poet, but in his own fashion — a strange fashion, 
like that in which he lived. There were internal tempests within 
him, avalanches of ideas, which found issue only in writing. He 

' From the History of English Literature, by H. A. Taine. 



TAINE'S CHARACTERIZATION OF BYRON. 377 

dreams of himself and sees himself throughout. It is a boiling 
torrent, but hedged in with rocks. 

2. No such great poet has had so narrow an imagination; he 
could not metamorphose himself into another. They are his own 
sorrows, his own revolts, his own travels, which, hardly trans- 
formed and modified, he introduces into his verses. He does 
not invent, he observes ; he does not create, he transcribes. His 
copy is darkly exaggerated, but it is a copy. " I could not write 
upon anything," says he, "without some personal experience and 
foundation." You will find in his letters and note-book, almost 
feature for feature, the most striking of his descriptions. The 
capture of Ismail, the shipwreck of Don Juan, are, almost word 
for word, like two accounts of it in prose. If none but cockneys 
could attribute to him the crimes of his heroes, none but blind 
men could fail to see in him the sentiments of his characters. 
This is so true, that he has not created more than one. Childe 
Harold^ Lara., The Giaour., The Corsair, Manfred, Sardanapalus, 
Cain, Tasso, Dante, and the rest, are always the same — one man 
represented under various costumes, in several lands, with differ- 
ent expressions ; but just as painters do when, by change of gar- 
ments, decorations, and attitudes, they draw fifty portraits from 
the same model. 

3. He meditated too much upon himself to be enamoured of 
anything else. The habitual sternness of his will prevented his 
mind from being flexible ; his force, always concentrated for ef- 
fort and strained for strife, shut him up in self-contemplation, 
and reduced him never to make a poem save of his own heart. 
He lavishes upon us his opinions, recollections, angers, tastes ; 
his poem is a conversation, a confidence, with the ups and downs, 
the rudeness and the freedom of a conversation and a confidence, 
almost like the holographic journal at which, by night, at his writ- 
ing-table, he opened his heart and discharged his feelings. Never 
was seen in such a clear glass the birth of a lively thought, the 
tumult of a great genius, the inner life of a genuine poet, always 
impassioned, inexhaustibly fertile and creative, in whom sudden- 
ly, successively, finished and adorned, bloomed all human emo- 
tions and ideas — sad, gay, lofty, low, hustling one another, mu- 
tually impeded, like swarms of insects that go humming and 
feeding on flowers and in the mud. He may say what he will — 



378 



BYRON. 



willingly or unwillingly, we listen to him ; let him leap from sub- 
lime to burlesque, we leap with him. He has so much wit, so 
fresh a wit, so sudden, so biting, such a prodigality of knowledge, 
ideas, images, picked up from the four corners of the horizon, in 
heaps and masses, that we are captivated, transported beyond 
limits; we cannot dream of resisting. 

4. Too vigorous, and hence unbridled — that is the word which 
ever recurs when speaking of Byron ; too vigorous against others 
and himself, and so unbridled that after spending his life in 
braving the world, and his poetry in depicting revolt, he can only 
find the fulfilment of his talent and the satisfaction of his heart 
in a poem in arms against all human and poetic conventions. 
To live so, a man must be great ; but he must also become de- 
ranged. There is a derangement of heart and mind in the style 
of Don Juan, as in Swift. When a man jests amid his tears, it 
is because he has a poisoned imagination. This kind of laugh- 
ter is a spasm, and you see in one man a hardening of the heart, 
or madness ; in another, excitement or disgust. Byron was ex- 
hausted, at least the poet was exhausted in him. The last cantos 
of Don yuan drag. The gayety became forced, the escapades 
became digressions ; the reader began to be bored. A new kind 
of poetry, which he had attempted, had given way in his hands. 
In the drama he only obtained a powerful declamation ; his char- 
acters had no life. When he forsook poetry, poetry forsook him. 
He went to Greece in search of action, and only found death. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



379 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 

[Introduction. — This poem was written in 1816, shortly after Byron 
left England for the last time, and while he was living with the Shelleys in 
Switzerland. 

There really zvas a " Prisoner of Chillon," the illustrious Bonnivard, who, 
for political reasons, was confined in the Castle of Chillon for six years (1530- 
1536); but, strange enough, Byron, when he wrote the piece, knew little or 
nothing of any actual captive. It was the mere sight of the dungeon that 
suggested the tragedy to his powerful imagination. When he became ac- 
quainted with the story of the real prisoner, he celebrated him in the follow- 
ing fine sonnet : 

Eternal spirit of the chainless mind! 

Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art, 

For there thy habitation is the heart — 

The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; 

And when thy sons to fetters are consigned — 

To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom — 

Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 

And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 

Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, 

And thy sad iloor an altar, for 'twas trod 

Until his very steps have left a trace, 

Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod. 

By Bonnivard! — May none those marks efface! 

For they appeal from tyranny to God. 

The Prisoner' nf Chillon is not a marked example of that style of which Byron 
was such an especial master, and which is, therefore, termed Byronic ; but it 
well illustrates the poet's vigor and concentration.] 



My hair is gray, but not with years, 
Nor grew it white 
In a single night, 

As men's have grown from fears ; 



Notes. — Line 4. As men's, etc. Byron 
appends this note : " Ludovico 
Sforza and others. The same is 
asserted of Marie Antoinette's, 
the wife of Louis the Sixteenth, 



though not in quite so short a 
period. Grief is said to have 
the same effect ; to such, and 
not to fear, this change in hers 
was to be attributed." 



Literary Analysis. — 1-4. Who is represented as telling the story, the 
actor or the author ? Try if it would be as impressive if told of a third per- 
son, thus : " His hair is gray," etc. — Observe the skill with which the atten- 
tion is first fixed by a reference to the most impressive characteristic of the 
prisoner — his premature grayness. 

1-26. Of the 164 words in this stanza, nearly eighty-six per cent, are of 
Anglo-Saxon origin. What are the words of classical origin.? — Of the 164 
words, how many are other than monosyllables ? 



38o 



BYRON. 



My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose ; 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 
, And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are banned and barred — forbidden fare. 
But this was for my father's faith 
I suffered chains and courted death. 
That father perished at the stake 
For tenets * he would not forsake ; 
And for the same his lineal race 
In darkness found a dwelling-place. 
We were seven who now are one — 

Six in youth, and one in age. 
Finished as they had begun, 

Proud of persecution's rage; 
One in fire, and two in field. 
Their belief with blood have sealed — 



10. Are banned, are prohibited or in- 

terdicted — an unusual but legiti- 
mate use of the word. — barred, 
prohibited. 

11. this was, etc. The meaning is it 

was, etc. The real prisoner, 
Bonnivard, was not confined for 
religious reasons ("my father's 
faith"), but for political reasons. 
"Bonnivard, prior of St. Victor, 
in his endeavors to free the 
Genoese from the tyranny of 
Charles V. of Savoy, became 
very obnoxious to that monarch, 



who had him seized secretly and 
conveyed to the Castle of Chil- 
lon, where for six long years he 
was confined in a dungeon. In 
1536, when the cantons of Vaud 
and Geneva had obtained their 
independence, the castle re- 
sisted for a long time, but it 
was eventually captured by the 
Bernese, and Bonnivard and 
the other prisoners obtained 
their liberty." — Fetridge : 
Hand - book for Travellers 
(Switzerland). 



Literary Analysis. — 7. a dnnfreon's spoil. Translate into plain language. 

10. banned and barred. What effect is gained by the use of this brace of al- 
literative synonyms ? — ftire. Explain this use of the word. 

14. tenets. Etymology of the word .'' 

17. We were seven who now are one. Analyze this sentence. 

19. had begun. The imperfect would be a more fitting tense ; but rhyme 
controls the author's choice. 

21. in Are ... in field. Explain these expressions. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON: 



381 



Dying as their father died, 
For the God their foes denied ; 
Three were in a dungeon cast, 
Of whom this wreck is left the last. 



25 



II. 

There are seven pillars of Gothic mould 
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old; 
There are seven columns, massy and gray. 
Dim with a dull imprisoned ray — 
A sunbeam which has lost its way. 
And through the crevice and the cleft 
Of the thick wall is fallen and left. 
Creeping o'er the floor so damp. 
Like a marsh's meteor lamp ; 
And in each pillar there is a ring, 

And in each ring there is a chain ; 
That iron is a cankering thing. 

For in these limbs its teeth remain, 



28. 



lu Chillon's dungeons. The Castle 
of Chillon, with its massive 
walls and towers, one and a half 
miles from Montreux, Switzer- 
land, stands on an isolated rock 
in Lake Leman, twenty - two 
yards from the bank, with which 
it is connected by a bridge. 



Dim, etc. According to Murray 
{Hand-book of Sivitzerland), "it 
is lighted by sevei'al windows, 
through which the sun's light 
passes by reflection from the 
surface of the lake up to the 
roof, transmitting also the blue 
color of the waters." 



Literary Analysis. — 26. By what forcible expression does the prisoner 
designate himself? 

27. of Gothic mould. Explain this phrase. 

29. seven columns. This expression denotes the same as what expression 
in line 27 ? 

31. sunbeam. Grammatical construction? What clauses and what phrase 
are adjuncts to this word ? 

34. so. What is the force of the word here ? 

35. Point out and explain the simile. Compare with U Allegro, page 54, 
line 96, of this book. 

36. 37. Point out the corresponding parts in the balanced sentence. 

38. That iron. What is the peculiar force of " that " as here used ? 

39, 40. its teeth remain, With marks, etc. What is the figure of speech ? 



382 



BYRON. 

With marks that will not wear away 
Till I have done with this new day, 
Which now is painful to these eyes, 
Which have not seen the sun so rise 
For years — I cannot count them o'er: 
I lost their long and heavy score 
When my last brother drooped and died, 
And I lay living by his side. 

III. 

They chained us each to a column stone, 
And we were three — yet, each alone. 
We could not move a single pace; 
We could not see each other's face. 
But with that pale and livid light 
That made us strangers in our sight; 
And thus together, yet apart — 
Fettered in hand, but joined in heart; 
'Twas still some solace in the dearth 
Of the pure elements of earth. 
To hearken to each other's speech, 
And each turn comforter to each — 



41. this new day. See stanza xiv. 



Literary Analysis. — 41. (l,ay, for the light of day : what is the figure of 
speech ? 
48-68. Make a paraphrase of stanza iii. 

48. each. Grammatical construction ? 

49. And we . . . alone. Point out the antithesis, and state what constitutes 
the impressiveness of the thought. 

52. But. What part of speech as here used? 

53. That made us strangers, etc. Compare with Milton, Paradise Lost, book 
i., lines 61-64 : 

"A dungeon horrible on all sides round 
As one great furnace flamed ; yet from these flames 
No light, hjd rather dnrkuess visible. 
Served only to discover sights of woe." 

54. 55. What figure of speech in each of these lines? 
57. tho pure elements of earth. Explain this expression. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 383 

With some new hope, oi- legend old, 
Or song heroically bold; 
But even these at length grew cold. 
Our voices took a dreary tone, 
An echo of the dungeon stone, 

A grating sound — not full and free, 

As they of yore were wont to be; 

It might be fancy, but to me 
They never sounded like our own. 

IV. 

I was the eldest of the three. 

And to uphold and cheer the rest 

I ought to do, and did, my best; 
And each did well in his degree. 

The youngest, whom my father loved 
Because our mother's brow was given 
To him, with eyes as blue as heaven — 

For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
And truly might it be distrest 
To see such bird in such a nest; 
For he was beautiful as day 

(When day was beautiful to me 

As to young eagles being free), 

A polar day which will not see 



71. ought. The word has here its origi- I commonly used in the present 

nal past senses: owed. It is now I tense. 



Literary Analysis. — 62. But . . . cold. — Express the thought in your own 
words. 

64. ecbo. With what noun is " echo " in apposition ? 

69-72. I was . . . degree. What kind of sentence gi-ammatically and rhetor- 
ically? 

73-106. In your own language, draw a portrait of each of the two brothers 
(see stanzas iv. and v.). 

76. For him. For whom.'' Is this a justifiable pleonasm ? 

78. such bird, etc. What is the figure of speech ? 

82-85. A polar day . . . sun. Give your judgment on this image. — Explain 
line 85. 



384 



BYRON. 

A sunset till its summer 's gone — 

Its sleepless summer of long light, 
The snow-clad offspring of the sun : 

And thus he was as pure and bright, 
And in his natural spirit ga^. 
With tears for naught but others' ills ; 
And then they flowed like mountain rills, 
Unless he could assuage the woe 
Which he abhorred to view below. 



V. 

The other was as pure of mind. 
But formed to combat with his kind; 
Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 
And perished in the foremost rank 

With joy; but not in chains to pine. 
His spirit withered with their clank; 

I saw it silently decline — 

And so, perchance, in sooth,* did mine ! 
But yet I forced it on to cheer 
Those relics of a home so dear. 



97. to pine must be connected with "formed" in line 93. 



Literary Analysis. — 86. Supply the ellipsis in this line. 

92. Supply the ellipsis in this line. 

93. But. Substitute another conjunction, so as to remove the awkwardness 
of the double but — in lines 93 and 97. — combat ivith his kind. Change the 
phraseology. 

95, 96. had stood, And perished. Supply the full form of the past perfect po- 
tential. 

97-99. Select three synonymous verbs in these lines, and discriminate the 
special signification of each. 

loi. forced it on. He speaks of his spirit as of a drooping soldier: what 
is the figure of spee^ch ? 

102. relics of a home. Explain. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 385 

He was a hunter of the hills, 

Had followed there the deer and wolf; 

To him this dungeon was a gulf, 
And fettered feet the worst of ills. 



VL 

Lake~Leman lies by Chillon's walls; 
A thousand feet in depth below 
Its massy waters meet and flow: 
Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
From Chillon's snow-white battlement. 

Which round about the wave enthralls. 
A double dungeon wall and wave 
Have made, and like a living grave. 
Below the surface of the lake 
The dark vault lies wherein we lay; 
We heard it ripple night and day; 

Sounding o'er our heads it knocked. 
And I have felt the winter's spray 
Wash through the bars when winds were high, 
And wanton in the happy sky; 
And then the very rock hath rocked, 
And I have felt it shake, unshocked, 
Because I could have smiled to see 
The death that would have set me free. 



Literary Analysis. — 103-106. Observe the characteristic concentration 
of expression in these lines. 

106. What verb is understood in this line ? Would the ellipsis be allow- 
able in prose ? 

109. massy. Query as to this epithet. 

112. enthralls. What is the subject of this verb. Change the line into the 
prose order. 

114. liring grave. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 18, i.) 

121. TTantoii . . . happy. Remark on these epithets. 

122. rock hath rocked. The play on vs^ords cannot be considered felicitous. 
The noun 7-ock and the verb to rock are of altogether different origin. 

25 



386 BYRON. 

VII. 
I said my nearer brother pined; 
I said his mighty heart declined. 
He loathed and put away his food; 
It was not that 'twas coarse and rude, 
For we were used to hunter's fare, 
And for tlie like had little care. 
The milk drawn from the mountain goat 
Was changed for water from the moat; 
Our bread was such as captive's tears 
Have moistened many a thousand years, 
Since man first pent his fellow-men. 
Like brutes within an iron den. 
But what were these to us or him ? 
These wasted not his heart or limb; 
My brother's soul was of that mould 
Which in a palace had grown cold. 
Had his free breathing been denied 
The range of the steep mountain-side. 
But why delay the truth ? — he died. 
I saw and could not hold his head. 
Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead. 
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain, 
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
He died, and they unlocked his chain. 
And scooped for him a shallow grave 
Even from the cold earth of our cave. 



Literary Analysis. — 126, 127. I said ... I said. What is the figure of 
speech ? (See Def. 36.) — Refer to the passage in which these statements were 
made or implied. 

131. the like. Explain. 

134, 135. Our bread . . . years. The pupil can scarcely fail to be struck with 
these finely pathetic lines. 

141. had gro>yii. What mood.-' 

142. Had . . . been denied. What mood .'' 

144. he died. Does the abruptness of the statement render it the more im- 
pressive ? 

146. dead. Supply the ellipsis. 
148. gnash my bonds. Explain. 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 387 

I begged them, as a boon,* to lay 
His corse * in dust whereon tlie day- 
Might shine — it was a foolish thought ; 
But then within my brain it wrought, 155 

That even in death his freeborn breast 
In such a dungeon could not rest. 
I might have spared my idle prayer — 
They coldly laughed, and laid him there, 
The flat and turfless earth above i6o 

The being we so much did love ; 
His empty chain above it leant — 
Such murder's fitting monument ! 

vni. 

But he the favorite and the flower, 

Most cherished since his natal hour, 165 

His mother's image in fair face. 

The infant love of all his race, 

His martyred father's dearest thought, 

My latest care — for whom I sought 

To hoard my life, that his might be 170 

Less wretched now, and one day free — 

He, too, who yet had held untired 

A spirit natural or inspired — 



172. yet, hitherto. — held, preserved. 



Literary Analysis. — 152.1)0011. Etymology? 1 
153. corse. Etymology? 

155. within my braiu it wrought. Compare a similar expression in Coleridge 
(see page 322, lines 5, 6, of this book) — 

"And to be wroth with one we love 
Doth work like madness in the brain." 

156, 157. That eveu . . . rest. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 34.) 

162. empty. Explain the application of this epithet as here used. 

163. monument. What is the figure of speecJr? (See Def. 20.) 
165. natal hour. Express in one word. 

167. The infant love. Explain. 

168, 169. thought . . . care. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 28.) 
170. To hoard my life. Is this literal or figurative language? 



388 



BYRON. ' 

He, too, was struck, and day by day 

Was withered on the stock away. 175 

O God ! it is a fearful thing 

To see the human soul take wing 

In any shape, in any mood : 

I've seen it rushing forth in blood ; 

I've seen it on the breaking ocean 180 

Strive with a swollen convulsive motion ; 

I've seen the sick and ghastly bed 

Of sin, delirious with its dread ; 

But these were horrors — this was woe 

Unmixed with such — but sure and slow. 185 

He faded, and so calm and meek. 

So softly worn, so sweetly weak, 

So tearless, yet so tender — kind 

And grieved for those he left behind ; 

With all the while a cheek whose bloom 190 

Was as a mockery of the tomb. 

Whose tints as gently sunk away 

As a departing rainbow's ray — 

An eye of most transparent light. 

That almost made the dungeon bright, 195 

And not a word of murmur, not 

A groan o'er his untimely lot — 



Literary Analysis. — 177. take wing. What is the figure of speech? (See 
Def. 20.) 

179-1S1. How does the author express death in battle ? In shipwreck ? 

183. sill. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 28.) Translate it into 
the concrete. 

186-189. He faded . . • beliiud. Point out examples of an exquisite choice of 
words. 

189. for those he left behind. The elder brother would be the sole survivor, 
yet the plural is used. " There is much delicacy in this plural. By such a 
fanciful multiplying of the survivors the elder brother prevents self-intrusion ; 
himself and his loneliness are, as it were, kept out of sight and forgotten." — 
Hales. 

193. As a departing, etc. What is the figure of speech ? 

194) 195- An eye . . . bright. What word alone arrests the hyperbole ? 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 389 

A little talk of better days, 

A little hope my own to raise ; 

For I was sunk in silence — lost 

In this last loss, of all the most. 

And then the sighs he would suppress 

Of fainting nature's feebleness. 

More slowly drawn, grew less and less. 

I listened, but I could not hear — 

I called, for I was wild with fear ; 

I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread 

Would not be thus admonished ; 

I called, and thought I heard a sound — 

I burst my chain ; with one strong bound 

I rushed to him : I found him not. 

I only stirred in this black spot ; 

I only lived — I only drew 

Th' accursed breath of dungeon dew ; 

The last, the sole, the dearest link 

Between me and the eternal brink, 

Which bound me to my failing race. 

Was broken in this fatal place. 

One on the earth, and one beneath — 

My brothers — both had ceased to breathe. 

I took that hand that lay so still — 

Alas ! my own was full as chill ; 

I had not strength to stir or strive, 

But felt that I was still alive — 

A frantic feeling, when we know 

That what we love shall ne'er be so. 

I know not why 

I could not die, 
I had no earthly hope — but faith, 
And that forbade a selfish death. 



Literary Analysis. — 199. my oym. Supply the ellipsis. 
217. Which. What is the antecedent .'' 
230. a selfish death. Explain. 



390 



BYRON. 

IX. 

What next befell me then and there 

I know not well — I never knew. 
First came the loss of light and air, 

And then of darkness too. 
I had no thought, no feeling — none : 235 

Among the stones I stood a stone ; 
And was, scarce conscious what I wist, 
As shrubless crags within the mist ; 
For all was blank and bleak and gray; 
It was not night — it was not clay ; 240 

It was not even the dungeon light. 
So hateful to my heavy sight ; 
But vacancy absorbing space, 
And fixedness, without a place ; 

There were no stars, no earth, no time, 245 

No check, no change, no good, no clime ; 
But silence, and a stirless breath 
Which neither was of life nor death — 
A sea of stagnant idleness. 
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless. 250 

X. 

A light broke in upon my brain — 

It was the carol of a bird ; 
It ceased ; and then it came again — 

The sweetest song ear ever heard ; 



Literary Analysis. — 231-250. The description of the deadly torpor that 
now came over the prisoner is of masterly force. It is in stanza ix. that 
Byron tries his power of language to the utmost, and displays best how re- 
markable that power was. — The pupils may select the most striking touches 
in this lurid picture. — An examination of the vocabulary may be made as to 
the proportion of Anglo-Saxon and classical, of long and short words, and of 
nouns as compared with words of other parts of speech. 

251-258. By what is the prisoner delivered from the deadly torpor described 
in stanza ix. ? Compare this with the mode in which the Ancient Mariner 
(see Coleridge's poem of that name) is saved from a like stagnation, by the 
sight of the fishes disporting themselves. What do you take to be the phi- 
losophy of the matter ? 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



391 



And mine was thankful till my eyes 255 

Ran over with the glad surprise, 

And they that moment could not see 

I was the mate of misery ; 

But then, by dull degrees, came back 

My senses to their wonted track : 260 

I saw the dungeon walls and floor 

Close slowly round me as before ; 

I saw the glimmer of the sun 

Creeping as it before had done ; 

But through the crevice where it came, 265 

That bird was perched as fond and tame, 

And tamer than upon the tree — 
A lovely bird with azure wings. 
And song that said a thousand things, 

And seemed to say them all to me ! 270 

I never saw its light before — 
I ne'er shall see its likeness more. 
It seemed to me to want a mate, 
But was not half so desolate ; 

And it was come to love me when 275 

None lived to love me so again, 
And, cheering from my dungeon's brink, 
Had brought me back to feel and think. 
I know not if it late were free. 

Or broke its cage to perch on mine ; 2S0 

But knowing well captivity, 

Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine — 
Or if it were in winged guise, 
A visitant from Paradise ; 

For — Heaven forgive that thought, the while 285 

Which made me both to weep and smile ! — 
I sometimes deemed that it might be 
My brother's soul come down to me ; 



Literary Analysis. — 257, 258. And they . . . misery. Explain this passage. 
265-292. Paraphrase the touching episode of the bird. Select passages of 
special beauty, tenderness, or pathos. 



392 



BYROlY. 

But then at last away it flew, 
And then 'twas mortal well I knew ; 
For he would never thus have flown, 
And left me twice so doubly lone — 
Lone as the corse within its shroud, 
Lone as a solitary cloud, 

A single cloud on a sunny day, 
While all the rest of heaven is clear, 
A frown upon the atmosphere, 
That hath no business to appear 

When skies are blue and earth is gay. 

XL 

A kind of change came in my fate — 
My keepers grew compassionate. 
I know not what had made them so — 
They were inured to sights of woe ; 
But so it was — my broken chain 
With links unfastened did remain ; 
And it was liberty to stride 
Along my cell from side to side, 
And up and down, and then athwart, 
And tread it over every part : 
And round the pillars one by one, 
Returning where my walk begun — 
Avoiding only, as I trod. 
My brothers' graves without a sod ; 
For if I thought with heedless tread 
My steps profaned their lowly bed. 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 294. Lone as a solitary cloud. Compare Words- 

" I wandered lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills." 

301. compassionate. Grammatical construction? 

309. tread. Grammatical construction ? 

311. began. Remark on the form. 

312-317. Express in your own words the affecting circumstance noted in 
these lines. 

315. their lowly bed. In what poem, previously given, does this expression 
occur ? 



THE PRISONER OF CHILL ON. 393 

My breath came gaspingly and thick, 
And my crushed heart fell blind and sick. 



XII. 

I made a footing in the wall : 

It was not therefrom to escape, 
For I had buried one and all 32° 

Who loved me in a human shape : 
And the whole earth would henceforth be 
A wider prison unto me ; 
No child, no sire, no kin had I, 

No partner in my misery. 325 

I thought of this, and I was glad. 
For thought of them had made me mad ; 
But I was curious to ascend 
To my barred windows, and to bend 
Once more upon the mountain high 330 

The quiet of a loving eye. 

XIII. 

I saw them — and they were the same ; 

They were not changed, like me, in frame ; 

I saw their thousand years of snow 

On high — their wide, long lake below, 335 

And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; 

I heard the torrents leap and gush 

O'er channelled rock and broken bush ; 

I saw the white-walled distant town, 

And whiter sails go skimming down ; 340 

And then there was a little isle, 

Which in my very face did smile — 



Literary Analysis.— 321. in a human shape. To what word is this phrase 
an adjunct? 

324. No . . . I. Remark on the order of words. 
328-331. Express in your own words this fine thought. 
334. thousand years of snow. Explain. 



394 



BYRON, 

The only one in view ; 
A small green isle, it seemed no more, 
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor ; 345 

But in it there were three tall trees. 
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze, 
And by it there were waters flowing, 
And on it there were young flowers growing 

Of gentle breath and hue. 35° 

The fish swam by the castle wall. 
And they seemed joyous each and all ; 
The eagle rode the rising blast — 
Methought he never flew so fast 

As then he seemed to fly ; 355 

And then new tears came in my eye. 
And I felt troubled, and would fain 
I had not left my recent chain ; 
And when I did descend again. 

The darkness of my dun abode 360 

Fell on me as a heavy load ; 
It was as in a new-dug grave. 
Closing o'er one we sought to save ; 
And yet my glance, too much opprest, 
Had almost need of such a rest. 365 

XIV. 

It might be months, or years, or days — 

I kept no count, I took no note — 
I had no hope my eyes to raise. 

And clear them of their dreary mote ; 
At last came men to set me free, 370 

I asked not why, and recked not where : 



Literary Analysis. — 344. no more. Explain. 

347-349- And . . . grotring-. Observe the effect of the polysyndeton. 

351. The fish, etc. Compare Coleridge's Ancient Marinej; lines 272-291. 

364, 365. And yet . . . rest. Explain. 

366-392. Give a paraphrase of stanza xiv. 

368. I had . . . raise. What is the jDrose order ? 



THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. 



395 



It was at length the same to me, 
Fettered or fetterless to be ; 
I learned to love despair. 
And thus, when they appeared at last, 375 

And all ni}^ bonds aside were cast. 
These heavy walls to me had grown 
A hermitage — and all my own ! 
And half I felt as they were come 

To tear me from a sacred home. 380 

With spiders I had friendship made 
And watched them in their sullen trade ; 
Had seen the mice by moonlight play — 
And why should I feel less than they ? 
We were all inmates of one place, 38s 

And I, the monarch of each race, 
Had power to kill ; yet, strange to tell ! 
In quiet we had learned to dwell. 
My very chains and I grew friends, 
So much a long communion tends 390 

To make us what we are : even I 
Regained my freedom with a sigh. 



Literary Analysis. — 378. A hermitage, etc. Compare Lovelace's famous 
lines — 

" Stone walls do not a prison make, 
Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 
That for an heritage." 



XXVI. 

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

1792-1822. 




CHARACTERIZATION BY SYMONDS.' 
I. As a poet Shelley contributed a new quality to English lit- 
erature — a quality of ideality, freedom, and spiritual audacity, 
which severe critics of other nations think we lack. Byron's dar- 

' From Shelley, by John Addington Symonds, in Morley's English Men of 
Letters. 



SYAfOJVDS'S CHARACTERIZATION OF SHELLEY. 397 

ing is in a different region ; his elemental worldliness and pun- 
gent satire do not liberate our energies or cheer us with new 
hopes and splendid vistas. Wordsworth, the very antithesis to 
Shelley in his reverent accord with institutions, suits our medita- 
tive mood, sustains us with a sound philosophy, and braces us by 
healthy contact with Nature he so dearly loved. But in Words- 
worth there is none of Shelley's magnetism. What remains of 
permanent value in Coleridge's poetry — such works as Christa- 
bel, the Ancient Mariner, or Kubla Khan — is a product of pure 
artistic fancy, tempered by the author's mysticism. Keats, true 
and sacred poet as he was, loved Nature with a somewhat sen- 
suous devotion. She was for him a mistress rather than a Dioti- 
ma; nor did he share the prophetic fire which burns in Shelley's 
verse, quite apart from the enunciation of his favorite tenets. 

2. In none of Shelley's greatest contemporaries was the lyrical 
faculty so paramount ; and whether we consider his minor songs, 
his odes, or his more complicated choral dramas, we acknowledge 
that he was the loftiest and the most spontaneous singer of our 
language. In range of power he was also conspicuous above the 
rest. Not only did he write the best lyrics, but the best tragedy, 
the best translations, and the best familiar poems of his century. 
As a satirist and humorist I cannot place him so high as some 
of his admirers do ; and the purely polemical portions of his 
poems, those in which he puts forth his antagonism to tyrants 
and religions and custom in all its myriad forms, seem to me to 
degenerate at intervals into poor rhetoric. 

3. While his genius was so varied and its flight so unap- 
proached in swiftness, it would be vain to deny that Shelley, as an 
artist, had faults from which the men with whom I have compared 
him were more free. The most prominent of these are haste, in- 
coherence, verbal carelessness, incompleteness, a want of narra- 
tive force, and a weak hold on objective realities. Even his warm- 
est admirers, if they are sincere critics, will concede that his verse, 
taken altogether, is marked by inequality. In his eager self-aban- 
donment to inspiration he produced much that is unsatisfying 
simply because it is not ripe. There is no defect of power in him, 
but a defect of patience ; and the final word to be pronounced 
in estimating the larger bulk of his poetry is the word immature. 

4. Not only was the poet young, but the fruit of his young 



398 



SHELLEY. 



mind had been plucked before it had been duly mellowed by re- 
iiection. Again, he did not care enough for common things to 
present them with artistic fulness. He was intolerant of detail, 
and thus failed to model with the roundness that we find in 
Goethe's work. He flew at the grand, the spacious, the sublime ; 
and did not always succeed in realizing for his readers what he 
had imagined. A certain want of faith in his own powers, fos- 
tered by the extraordinary discouragement under which he had 
to write, prevented him from finishing what he began, or from 
giving that ultimate form of perfection to his longer works which 
we admire in shorter pieces, like the Ode to the West Wind. 
When a poem was ready, he had it hastily printed, and passed on 
to fresh creative efforts. If anything occurred to interrupt his 
energy, he flung the sketch aside. 

5. Some of these defects, if we may use the word at all to in- 
dicate our sense that Shelley might by care have been made 
equal to his highest self, were in a great measure the correlative 
of his chief quality — the ideality of which I have already spoken. 
He composed with all his faculties — mental, emotional, and phys- 
ical — at the utmost strain, at a white heat of intense fervor, striv- 
ing to attain one object, the truest and most passionate investi- 
ture for the thoughts which had inflamed his over-quick imagina- 
tion. The result is that his finest work has more the stamp of 
something natural and elemental — the wind, the sea, the depth 
of air — than of a more artistic product. Plato would have said 
"the Muses filled this man with sacred madness," and, when he 
wrote, he was no longer in his own control. 

6. There was, moreover, ever present in his nature an effort, an 
aspiration after a better than the best this world can show, which 
prompted him to blend the choicest products of his thought and 
fancy with the fairest images borrowed from the earth on which 
he lived. He never willingly composed except under the im- 
pulse to body forth a vision of the love and light and life which 
was the spirit of the power he worshipped. This persistent up- 
ward striving, this earnestness, this passionate intensity, this piety 
of soul and purity of inspiration, give a quite unique spirituality 
to his poems. But it cannot be expected that the colder perfec- 
tions of the Academic art should be always found in them. They 
have something of the waywardness and negligence of nature, 



ODE TO A SKYLARK. 



399 



something of the asytumetreia we admire in the earlier creations 
of Greek architecture. That Shelley, acute critic and profound 
student as he was, could conform himself to rule and show him- 
self an artist in the stricter sense is, however, abundantly proved 
by The CeJici and by Adonais. The reason why he did not al- 
ways observe this method will be understood by those who have 
studied his Defence of Poetry\ and learned to sympathize with his 
impassioned theory of art. 

7. If a final word were needed to utter the unutterable sense 
of waste excited in us by Shelley's premature absorption into 
the mystery of the unknown, we might find it in the last lines of 
his own Alastor) 

And all the shows o' the world are frail and vain 
To weep a- loss that turns their light to shade. 
It is a woe " too deep for tears " when all 
Is reft at once, when some surpassing spirit, 
"Whose light adorned the world around it, leaves 
Those who remain behind nor sobs nor groans, 
The passionate tumult of a clinging hope; 
But pale despair and cold tranquillity, 
Nature's vast frame, the web of human things, 
Birth and the grave, that are not as they were. 



L— ODE TO A SKYLARK. 



[Introduction. — The Ode to a Skylark, the most popular of all Shelley's 
lyrics, was produced in 1820, when the poet was in his twenty-ninth year — two 
years before his death. "It is," says Prof. De Mille, " penetrated through 
and through with the spirit of the beautiful, and has more of high and pure 
poetic rapture than any other ode in existence."] 

I. 
Hail to thee, blithe spirit, 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it, 
Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 



Literary Analysts. — What are the principal characteristics of this lyric' 
Ans. They are delicacy of imagery and exquisite melody of language. 

1-5. What kind of sentence, grammatically considered, is the first stanza ? 
— Point out any epithets of special beauty in this stanza. — Explain the expres- 
sion " unpremeditated art." 



400 



SHELLE Y. 

II. 

Higher still and higher. 

From the earth thou springest 
Like a cloud of fire ; 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

III. 

In the golden lightning 

Of the sunken sun, 
O'er which clouds are brightening, 

Thou dost float and run, 
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 

IV. 
The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven. 
In the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. 

V. 
Keen are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere, 
Whose intense lamp narrows 
In the white dawn clear, 
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 



Literary Analysis. — 6-10. Higher ... singest. Arrange in the prose 
order. What is meant by " the blue deep ?" 

10. And singing . . . singest. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. I8.1) 

15. unbodied joy. Explain this expression. 

16-20. In stanza iv. give an instance of alliteration. — Point out a fine image 
and give the kind of figure. — Give an example of oxymoron in this stanza. 

21-25. What is the thought in this stanza ? 



' This sentence is an example of that form of antithesis to which the name 
mitintetabole is sometimes given : the order of words is reversed in each mem- 
ber of the antithesis. 



ODE TO A SKYLARK. 



401 



VI. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare, 
From one lonely clovid 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. 

VII. 

What thou art we know not ; 

What is most like thee ? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see, 
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. 

VIII. 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought. 
Singing hymns unbidden. 
Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not 



Literary Analysis. — 27. is loud. How do you defend the use of the 
singular verb here ? 

28. when night is bare. Explain. 

30. rains out her beams. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 20.) 

31. What. . . not. Observe that the poet had already implied ignorance of 
the creature's nature by affirming it to be a "spirit " (line i), and denying it to 
be "bird" (line 2). 

33-35. From rainbow . . . melody. Arrange in the prose order and supply 
ellipsis. 

36-60. In line 32 the poet, finding it impossible to tell what the skylark is, 
asks " What is most like thee .-"' and he now proceeds, in stanzas viii.-xii., to 
answer this question in a series of lovely images — "apples of silver in pictures 
of gold." On this passage it is well observed by De Mille {Rhetoric, p. 
109) : "The poet, in his high enthusiasm, seems to exhaust himself in fitting 
subjects of comparison. Each one as it comes is made use of, but each one 
is hurriedly dismissed in order to present another ; and the rich and varied 
imagery never fails to respond to the sustained elevation of this perfect 
song." 

36-40. Paraphrase the first simile. 

26 



402 



SHELLEY. 

IX. 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower, 
Soothing her love-laden 

Soul in secret hour, 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower. 45 

X. 

Like a glowworm golden 

In a dell of dew, 
Scattering unbeholden 

Its aerial hue 
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view. 50 

XI. 

Like a rose embowered 

In its own green leaves, 
By warm winds deflowered. 
Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves, ss 

XII. 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the tinkling grass, 
Rain-awakened flowers. 

All that ever was 
Joyous and clear and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 60 



Literary Analysis. — 41-45. In stanza ix., what words are of other than 
Anglo-Saxon origin ? 

46-50. Examine stanza x. with respect to its melody. — Give examples of al- 
literation. Do these aid the melody ? 

47. dell of dew. Change the adjective phrase into an adjective word. 

55. Cite a figurative expression in this line. 

56. vernal. Substitute an Anglo-Saxon synonym. 

57. tinkling grass. What is the force of the epithet .'' 
60. Point out the example of polysyndeton in this line. 



ODE TO A SKYLARK. 

XIII. 

Teach us, sprite * or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine : 
I have never heard 
Praise of love or wine 
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

XIV. 

Chorus hymeneal. 

Or triumphal chant, 
Matched with thine would be all 
But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

XV. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain ? 
What fields or waves or mountains ? 

What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? 



403 



Literary Analysis. — 61-65. What word in stanza xiii. belongs exclusive- 
ly to the diction of poetry ? Why is this form here used by the author ? 

63. Praise of loTe, etc. From the fact that the " praise of love or wine " has 
been the theme of much of the most rapturous utterances of the poets, Shel- 
ley, merging the generic in the specific, employs this expression to typify im- 
passioned poetry in general. 

65. panted. From what is the image drawn ? 

66. Chorus hymeneal. Explain. 
68. with thine. With what ? 

70. Observe with what accentuated expression this line reiterates the idea 
foreshadowed in the words "an empty vaunt." 

71-75. What . . . pain. What effect is gained by the use of the interrogative 
form ? 

71. fountains, etc. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 20.) 

73-75. What fields . . . plain. Enumerate the particular objects suggested as 
the possible sources of the bird's "happy strain." 



404 



SHELLEY. 

XVI. 
With thy clear, keen joyance 

Languor cannot be : 
Shadow of annoyance 
Never came near thee : 
Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

XVII. 

Waking or asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 

Than we mortals dream. 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? 

XVIII. 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not : 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 

XIX. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate and pride and fear; 
If we were things born 

Not to shed a tear, 
r know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 



Literary Analysis. — 76-80. In stanza xvi., what word belongs to the dic- 
tion of poetry ? — What impressive antithesis in this stanza? 

82-85. Thou of death, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 22.)— 
Note the fine cadence in the last line of the stanza. — Explain the words 
"crystal stream." 

86-90. What are the only (two) words not of Anglo-Saxon origin in this 
stanza.^ — How does the poet express the thought that man is a creature of 
hope and memory ? — What fine contrast is presented in the last line of this 
stanza ? — By what device of alliteration is the antithesis aided ? 

91-95. Yet . . . near. The idea in this stanza may be thus expressed in 
prose : Even if we could divest ourselves of earthly passions, we should come 
short of the beatitude with which nature has gifted that "blithe spirit," the 
subject of the poem. 



DEFENCE OF POETRY. 405 



XX. 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 

XXI. 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow. 
The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 



II.— DEFENCE OF POETRY. 



1. The functions of the poetical faculty are twofold: by one 
it creates new materials of knowledge and power and pleasure ; 
by the other it engenders in the mind a desire to reproduce and 
arrange them according to a certain rhythm and order which may 
be called the beautiful and the good. The cultivation of poetry 5 
is never more to be desired than at periods when, from an excess 
of the selfish and calculating principle, the accumulation of the 
materials of external life exceed the quantity of the power of as- 
similating them to the internal laws of human nature. The body 
has then become too unwieldy for that which animates it. jo 

2. Poetry is indeed something divine. It is at once the centre 
and circumference of knowledge; it is that which comprehends 
all science, and that to which all science must be referred. It is 
at the same time the root and blossom of all other systems of 
thought ; it is that from which all spring, and that which adorns 15 



Literary Analysis. — 96-100. Better ... ground. Transpose stanza xx. 
into the prose order. — By what poetic appellation does the poet designate the 
skylark ? 

ior-105. In this raptuous flight of the imagination the poet soars into the 
very heaven of his invention. 



4o6 SHELLEY. 

all ; and that which, if blighted, denies the fruit and the seed, and 
withholds from the barren world the nourishment and the succes- 
sion of the scions of the tree of life. It is the perfect and con- 
summate surface and bloom of all things; it is as the odor and 
the color of the rose to the texture of the elements which com- 20 
pose it, as the form and splendor of unfaded beauty to the secrets 
of anatomy and corruption. What were virtue, love, patriotism, 
friendship ; what were the scenery of this beautiful universe which 
we inhabit ; what were our consolations on this side of the grave, 
and what were our aspirations beyond it, if poetry did not as- 25 
cend to bring light and fire from those eternal regions where the 
owl-winged faculty of calculation dare not ever soar ? Poetry is 
not, like reasoning, a power to be exerted according to the deter- 
mination of the will. A man cannot say, " I will compose po- 
etry." The greatest poet even cannot say it; for the mind in 30 
creation is as a fading coal, which some invisible influence, like 
an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness. This 
power arises from within, like the color of a flower, which fades 
and changes as it is developed, and the conscious portions of our 
natures are unprophetic either of its approach 01 its departure, is 
Could this influence be durable in its original purity and force, 
it is impossible to predict the greatness of the results ; but when 
composition begins, inspiration is already on the decline, and the 
most glorious poetry that has ever been communicated to the 
world is probably a feeble shadow of the original conceptions of 40 
the poet. I appeal to the greatest poets of the present day, 
whether it is not an error to assert that the finest passages of po- 
etry are produced by labor and study. The toil and the delay 
recommended by critics can be justly interpreted to mean no 
more than a careful observation of the inspired moments, and an +5 
artificial connection of the spaces between their suggestions by 
the mtermixture of conventional expressions — a necessity only 
imposed by the limitedness of the poetical faculty itself; for Mil- 
ton conceived the Paradise Lost as a whole before he executed it 
m portions. We have his own authority also for the Muse having '''' 
"dictated" to him the "unpremeditated song." And let this be 
an answer to those who would allege the fifty-six various readings 
of the first line of the Orla?ido Furioso. Compositions so pro- 
duced are to poetry what mosaic is to painting. This instinct 



DEFENCE OF POETRY. 407 

and intuition of the poetical faculty is still more observable in the 55 
plastic and pictorial arts. A great statue or picture grows under 
the power of the artist as a child in the mother's womb ; and the 
very mind which directs the hands in formation is incapable of 
accounting to itself for the origin, the gradations, or the media of 
the process., 60 

3. Poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the 
happiest and best minds. We are aware of evanescent visitations 
of thought and feeling sometimes associated with place or person, 
sometimes regarding our own mind alone, and always arising un- 
foreseen and departing unbidden, but elevating and delightful be- 65 
yond all expression; so that even in the desire and the regret 
they leave there cannot but be pleasure, participating as it does 
in the nature of its object. It is, as it were, the interpenetration 
of a diviner nature through our own; but its footsteps are like 
those of a wind over the sea, which the coming calm erases, and 7° 
whose traces remain only, as on the wrinkled sand which paves 
it. These and corresponding conditions of being are experienced 
principally by those of the most delicate sensibility and the most 
enlarged imagination ; and the state of mind produced by them 
is at war with every base desire. The enthusiasm of virtue, love, 75 
patriotism, and friendship is essentially linked with such emo- 
tions ; and whilst they last, self appears as what it is, an atom to 
a universe. Poets are not only subject to these experiences as 
spirits of the most refined organization, but they can color all 
that they combine with the evanescent hues of this ethereal So 
world. A word, a trait in the representation of a scene or a pas- 
sion will touch the enchanted chord, and reanimate, in those who 
have ever experienced these emotions, the sleeping, the cold, the 
buried image of the past. Poetry thus makes immortal all that 
is best and most beautiful in the world ; it arrests the vanishing 85 
apparitions which haunt the interlunations of life, and, veiling 
them, or in language or in form, sends them forth among man- 
kind,bearing sweet news of kindred joy to those with whom their 
sisters abide— abide, because there is no portal of expression 
from the caverns of the spirit which they inhabit into the uni-90 
verse of things. Poetry redeems from decay the visitations of 
the divinity in man. 



XXVII. 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

1 794- 1 878. 



;//ri'A. > 




<r~y^c^y^p 



CHARACTERIZATION BY G.W.CURTIS. 

I. There was a mournful propriety in the circumstances of the 
death of Bryant. He was stricken just as he had discharged a 
characteristic duty ' with all the felicity for which he was noted, 



■ Bryant received the stroke that resulted in his death immediately after the 



CURTIS'S CHARACTERIZATION OF BRYANT. 



409 



and he was probably never wholly conscious from that moment. 
Happily we may believe that he was sensible of no decay, and 
his intimate friends had noted little. He was hale, erect, and 
strong to the last. All his life a lover of nature and an advocate 
of liberty, he stood under the trees in the beautiful park on a 
bright June day, and paid an eloquent tribute to a devoted ser- 
vant of liberty in another land. And while his words yet lingered 
in the ears of those who heard him, he passed from human sight. 

2. There is probably no eminent man in the country upon 
whose life and genius and career the verdict of his fellow-citi- 
zens would be more immediate and unanimous. His character 
and life had a simplicity and austerity of outline that had become 
universally familiar, like a neighboring mountain or the sea. His 
convictions were very strong, and his temper uncompromising ; 
he was independent beyond most Americans. He was an editor 
and a partisan ; but he held politics and all other things subor- 
dinate to the truth and the common welfare, and his earnestness 
and sincerity and freedom from selfish ends took the sting of per- 
sonality from his opposition, and constantly placated all who, 
like him, sought lofty and virtuous objects. 

3. This same bent of nature showed itself in the character of 
his verse. His poetry is intensely and distinctively American. 
He was a man of scholarly accomplishment, familiar with other 
languages and literature. But there is no tone or taste of any- 
thing not peculiarly American in his poetry. It is as character- 
istic as the wine of the Catawba grape, and could have been writ- 
ten only in America by an American naturally sensitive to what- 
ever is most distinctively American. 

4. Bryant's fame as a poet was made half a century before he 
died, and the additions to his earlier verse, while they did not 
lessen, did not materially increase, his reputation. But the mark 
so early made was never effaced, either by himself or others. 
Younger men grew by his side into great and just fame. But 
what Shelley says of love is as true of renown : 

" True love in this differs from gold and clay, 
That to divide is not to take away." 

delivery of an oration on the occasion of the setting-up of a statue to the Ital- 
ian patriot Mazzini in the Central Park, N. Y. (June, 1878). 



4IO 



BRYANT. 



The tone of Bryant remained, and remained distinct, individual, 
and unmistakable. Nature, as he said in T/ianatopsis, speaks " a 
various language " to her lovers. But what she said to him was 
plainly spoken and clearly heard and perfectly repeated. His 
art was exquisite. It was absolutely unsuspected, but it served 
its truest purpose, for it removed every obstruction to full and 
complete delivery of his message. 

5. He was reserved, and in no sense magnetic or responsive. 
There was something in his manner of the New England hills 
among which he was born — a little stern and bleak and dry, al- 
though suffused with the tender and scentless splendor of the 
white laurel, solemn with primeval pines, and musical with the 
organ soughs of the wind through their branches. But this re- 
serve was not forbidding, and there was always kindness with all 
the dryness of his manner. Indeed, his manner was only expres- 
sive of that independence which largely made him what he was. 
He stood quietly and firmly on his own feet. His opinions were 
his own conclusions, and he made no compromises to save his 
reputation for consistency, or to secure immunity from criticism, 
or to retain the sympathy of associates. He, too, was one of the 
men who are able to go alone, and who can say No. The cob- 
webs of sophistry which the spiders of fear and ambition in a 
thousand forms spin around the plain path of duty, to conceal or 
to deter, he so unconsciously and surely brushed away that at 
last it came to be understood that his course would be not what 
his party expected or what a miscalled consistency required, but 
simply what seemed to him to be the right course. 



THANA TOPSIS. 



I.— THANATOPSIS. 



41.1 



[Introduction. — This celebrated production — the best known of American 
poems — was written by Bryant when between eighteen and nineteen years of 
age, and first appeared in the North Ainerican Review for 1817. The word 
thanatopsis (Greek thanatos, death, and opsis, view) signifies a view of death ; 
and the poem is, in fact, a sweetly solemn meditation on the thoughts asso- 
ciated with " the last bitter hour." Prof. Wilson (Christopher North) charac- 
terizes it as "a noble example of true poetical enthusiasm," and adds that "it 
alone would establish the author's claim to the honors of genius." Thatia- 
topsis, as originally published in the North Aitierican Reviezv, comprised only 
about one half of the poem as we know it : it seems to have grown under his 
hand as he matured ; and the successive editions showed numerous slight al- 
terations. In the Literary Analysis some of these changes are indicated, and 
the comparison of readings will be found instructive.] 

To him who in the love of nature holds 

Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 

A various language : for his gayer hours 

She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 

And eloquence of beauty; and she glides 

Into his darker musings with a mild 

And healing sympathy, that steals away 

Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts 

Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 

Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,* 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 

Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart. 

Go forth vmder the open sky, and list 



Literary Analysis. — Is the poem in rhyme or blank verse ? What is the 
measure ? 

1. To him, etc. Is the structure of the sentence periodic or loose? 

2. visible forms. Explain. — she speaks. What is the figure of speech ? 
(See Def 22.) 

3. A various language. Explain. How is the " various language " after- 
wards exemplified ? 

7. steals ai\ay, etc What is the figure of speech? (See Def 20.) 
8-22. When thoughts . . . image. What kind of sentence grammatically and 
rhetorically ? — In this sentence only fifteen words are of other than Anglo- 
Saxon origin : what are these words i* — Point out the figures of speech in this 
sentence. — By what periphrasis does the author denote death ? The grave ? 
Give an example of a poetic word-form. — What is the most striking epithet 
in this sentence ? 



4,12 



BRYANT. 

To nature's teachings, while from all around — 

Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — 

Comes a still voice : — Yet a few days and thee 

The all-beholding sun shall see no more 

In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form is laid, with many tears, 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go 

To mix forever with the elements. 

To be a brother to the insensible rock 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 

Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 

Shalt thou retire alone — nor couldst thou wish 

Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 

With patriarchs of the infant world, — with kings. 

The powerful of the earth, — the wise, the good, 

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, 

Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales 

Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 20. is laid. Originally ze'^j' laid. What is the effect 
of the alteration ? 

23. Thy growtli. Metonymy or synecdoche .' — resolTed. Meaning? 

24. lost each human trace. Grammatical construction ? — surrendering up, etc. 
To what word is this adjective phrase an adjunct ? — Remark on the expres- 
sion "surrendering up." 

27. a brother. What is the figure of speech.^ By what other poets is it 
much used ? 

28. What word in this line belongs to the chction of poetry.^ 

29. share. What is the full form of the word ? 

30. his roots. What is the figure of speech ? — mould. Explain. 

31. How is the negation rendered very emphatic? 
33-37. Thou shalt . . . sepulchre. Paraphrase. 

37-45. The hills . . . man. Select the most effective epithets in this sentence. 
Which of these epithets is metaphorical? 



THAN A TOPSIS. 



413 



The venerable woods ; rivers that move 

In majesty, and the complaining brooks 

That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, 

Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun. 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 

The globe are but a handful to the tribes 

That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 

Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 

Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 

Save his own dashings, — yet, the dead are there ; 

And millions in those solitudes, since first 

The flight of years began, have laid them down 

In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. 

So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou withdraw 

Unheeded by the living, and no friend 

Take note of thy departure ! All that breathe 

Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 



Literary Analysis. — 44. decorations. What is the figure of speech ? 
46. the inflnite host of Jieaven, For what word is this expression a periphra- 
sis ? 

49. tribes. Meaning here ? 

50. 51. Take the wings Of morning. Source of this expression ? Render in 
plain language. 

51. the Barcan desert pierce. Other readings are "pierce the Barcan wilder- 
ness" and "traverse Barca's desert sands." Which is the best form of state- 
ment ? Give reasons for your opinion. 

52-54. Or lose . . . dashings. Observe the nobly solemn rhythm of this pas- 
sage. — the Oregon is another name for the Columbia River. Can you assign 
any reason for the choice of this river as an example .'' — What words convey a 
vivid conception of the silence of a primeval forest t 

55~.S7' And millions . • . alone. In this passage point out three figurative ex- 
pressions. 

58, 59. if thou withdraw Unheeded. Other readings are " withdraw In silence 
from" and "if thou shalt fall Unnoticed." 



414 



BRYANT. 

When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 

Plod on, and each one as before will chase 

His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 

Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 

And make their bed with thee. As the long train 

Of ages glides away, the sons of men, 

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 

In the full strength of years, matron, and maid. 

The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 

And beauty of its innocent age cut off. 

Shall one by one be gathered to thy side. 

By those who, in their turn, shall follow them. 

So live that when thy summons comes to join 

The innumerable caravan that moves 

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 

His chamber in the silent halls of death. 

Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night 

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 

By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 

About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 



Literary Analysis. — 62. the solemn brood of care. What is the figure of 
speech.' (See Def. 28.) Translate into a literal expression. 

66. make their bed. What is the figure of speech ? 

67. glides: previously written by the poet g/ide. Which is the better? 

68. in life's green spring. Substitute a plain expression. Is the line tauto- 
logical ? 

70, 71. The bowed . . . off. These two lines are a substitute for the original 

line — 

"And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man." 

There can be no doubt as to the very great improvement made by the change. 
The original line is exceedingly hackneyed. 

73-81. So li?e . . . dreams. What kind of sentence, grainmatically and 
rhetorically, is this passage? — The whole sentence is in what figure? (See 
Def. 18.) — In this passage point out a metaphor. A metonymy. A simile. — 
Commit this passage to memory. 



THE PLANTING OF THE APFLE-TREE. 415 

II.— THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE. 

1. Come, let us plant the apple-tree ! 
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade ; 
Wide let its hollow bed be made ; 

There gently lay the roots, and there 
Sift the dark mould with kindly care, 

And press it o'er them tenderly, 
As round the sleeping infant's feet 
We softly fold the cradle-sheet ; 

So plant we the apple-tree. 

2. What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Buds, which the breath of summer days 
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays ; 

Boughs, where the thrush with crimson breast 
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest. 

We plant upon the sunny lea 
A shadow for the noontide hour, 
A shelter from the summer shower, 

When we plant the apple-tree. 

3. What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs 
To load the May-wind's restless wings, 
When from the orchard-row he pours 
Its fragrance through our open doors. 

A world of blossoms for the bee, 
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, 
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom 

We plant with the apple-tree. 

4. What plant we in this apple-tree ? 
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, 
And redden in the August noon. 
And drop when gentle airs come by 
That fan the blue September sky. 

While children, wild with noisy glee, 
Shall scent their fragrance as they pass 
And search for them the tufted grass 

At the foot of the apple-tree. 



4 1 6 BRYANT. 

5. And when above this apple-tree 
The winter stars are quivering bright, 
And winds go howling through the night, 

Girls whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth 4° 

Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth ; 

And guests in prouder homes shall see, 
Heaped with the orange and the grape, 
As fair as they in tint and shape, 

The fruit of the apple-tree. 45 

6. The fruitage of this apple-tree 
Winds and our flag of stripe and star 
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, 
Where men shall wonder at the view 

And ask in what fair groves they grew; 5° 

And they who roam beyond the sea 
Shall think of childhood's careless day 
And long hours passed in summer play 

In the shade of the apple-tree. 

7. But time shall waste this apple-tree. 55 
Oh ! when its aged branches throw 

Their shadows on the world below, 
Shall fraud and force and iron will 
Oppress the weak and helpless still .'' 

What shall the task of mercy be 60 

Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears 
Of those who live when length of years 

Is wasting this apple-tree ? 

8. " Who planted this old apple-tree ?" 

The children of that distant day 65 

Thus to some aged man shall say; 

And, gazing on its mossy stem. 

The gray-haired man shall answer them : 

" A poet of the land was he. 
Born in the rude but good old times ; 70 

'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes 

On planting the apple-tree." 



XXVIII. 

THOMAS CARLYLE. 

1795- 




/Wcrvw^ Vw^^^^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.' 

I. Carlyle is an author who has now been so long before the 
world that we may feel towards him something of the unpreju- 
dice of posterity. It has long been evident that he had no more 

' From Among My Books, by James Russell Lowell. 
27 



4i8 CARLYLE. 

ideas to bestow upon us, and that no new turn of his kaleidoscope 
would give us anything but some variation of arrangement in the 
brilliant colors of his style. The leading characteristics of an 
author who is in any sense original — that is to say, who does not 
merely reproduce, but modifies the influence of tradition, culture, 
and contemporary thought upon himself by some admixture of 
his own — may commonly be traced more or less clearly to his 
earliest works. 

2. Everything that Carlyle wrote during this first period thrills 
with the purest appreciation of whatever is brave and beautiful 
in human nature, with the most vehement scorn of cowardly com- 
promise with things base ; and yet, immitigable as his demand 
for the highest in us seems to be, there is always something re- 
assuring in the humorous sympathy with mortal frailty which 
softens condemnation and consoles for shortcoming. 

3. By degrees the humorous element in his nature gains 
ground, till it overmasters all the rest. Becoming always more 
boisterous and obtrusive, it ends at last, as such humor must, 
in cynicism. In Sartor Resartus it is still kindly, still infused 
with sentiment ; and the book, with its mixture of indignation 
and farce, strikes one as might the prophecies of Jeremiah 
if the marginal comments of the Rev. Mr. Sterne in his wild- 
est mood had by some accident been incorporated with the 
text. 

4. In proportion as his humor gradually overbalanced the oth- 
er qualities of his mind, Carlyle's taste for the eccentric, amor- 
phous, and violent in men became excessive, disturbing more 
and more his perception of the more commonplace attributes 
which give consistency to portraiture. His French Revolution 
is a series of lurid pictures, unmatched for vehement power, in 
which the figures of such sons of earth as Mirabeau and Dan- 
ton loom gigantic and .terrible as in the glare of an eruption, 
their shadows swaying far and wide grotesquely awful. But 
all is painted by eruption - flashes in violent light and shade. 
There are no half-tints, no gradations ; and we find it impossible 
to account for the continuance in power of less Titanic actors in 
the tragedy like Robespierre on any theory, whether of human 
nature or of individual character, supplied by Carlyle. Of his 
success, however, in accomplishing what he aimed at, which was 



LOWELL'S CHARACTERIZATION OF CARLYLE. 



419 



to haunt the mind with memories of a horrible political night- 
mare, there can be no doubt. 

5. Carlyle's historical compositions are wonderful prose-poems, 
full of picture, incident, humor, and character, where we grow fa- 
miliar with his conception of certain leading personages, and even 
of subordinate ones, if they are necessary to the scene, so that 
they come out living upon the stage from the dreary limbo of 
names ; but this is no more history than the historical plays of 
Shakespeare. There is nothing in imaginative literature superior 
in its own way to the episode of Voltaire in the History of Frederick 
the Great, It is delicious in humor, masterly in minute charac- 
terization. We feel as if the principal victim (for we cannot help 
feeling all the while that he is so) of this mischievous genius had 
been put upon the theatre before us by some perfect mimic like 
Foote, who had studied his habitual gait, gestures, tones, turn 
of thought, costume, trick of feature, and rendered them with 
the slight dash of caricature needful to make the whole compo- 
sition tell. It is in such things that Carlyle is beyond all rival- 
ry, and that we must go back to Shakespeare for a comparison. 
But the mastery of Shakespeare is shown perhaps more striking- 
ly in his treatment of the ordinary than of the exceptional. His 
is the gracious equality of Nature herself. Carlyle's gift is rath- 
er in the representation than in the evolution of character ; and 
it is a necessity of his art, therefore, to exaggerate slightly his 
heroic, and to caricature in like manner his comic, parts. His 
appreciation is less psychological than physical and external. 

6. With the gift of song, Carlyle would have been the greatest of 
epic poets since Homer. Without it, to modulate and harmonize 
and bring parts into their proper relation, he is the most amor- 
phous of humorists, the most shining avatar of whim the world has 
ever seen. Beginning with a hearty contempt for shams, he has 
come at length to believe in brute force as the only reality, and 
has as little sense of justice as Thackeray allowed to women. We 
say brute force because, though the theory is that this force should 
be directed by the supreme intellect for the time being, yet all in- 
ferior wits are treated rather as obstacles to be contemptuously 
shoved aside than as ancillary forces to be conciliated through 
their reason. But, with all deductions, he remains the profound- 
est critic and the most dramatic imagination of modern times. 



42 o 



CARLYLE. 



I.— THREE LURID PICTURES. 



[Introduction. — The following from Carlyle's greatest work, the History 
of the French Revolution, presents three of those striking sketches of charac- 
ter which Lowell (see Characterization) well calls " lurid pictures :" they are 
the portraits of Mirabeau, Robespierre, and Dr. Guillotin. The passage oc- 
curs in the account of the procession of the deputies to the States-General, 
May 4, 1789. After describing the sea of spectators gathered to witness the 
procession, Carlyle suddenly breaks off with "We dwell no longer on the 
mixed shouting Multitude ; for now, behold, the Commons Deputies are at 
hand."] 

I. Which of these Six Hundred individuals, in plain white 
cravat, that have come up to regenerate France, might one 



Notes. — Line l. Six Hundred individu- 1 first estate, or order, being the 

als. The deputies of the Third nobility, and the second the 

Estate, i. e., the Commons — the | clergy. 



Literary Analysis. — The most characteristic quality of Carlyle's style is 
energy. Among the instrumentalities he wields for the production of telling 
literary effects may be enumerated a vocabulary of immense range (includ- 
ing eccentric verbal coinages and daring liberties with the ordinary forms of 
speech) ; an original, irregular, and rugged structure of sentence ;•" powerful 
similitudes ; bold metaphors ; vivid handling of abstractions ; choice of telling 
circumstances ; sensational contrasts ; and habitual exaggeration of language. 

1-3. Which . . . king. What kind of sentence grammatically ? Interro- 
gation is a large element in Carlyle's mannerism. It is not merely an oc- 
casional means of special emphasis ; it is an habitual mode of transition, used 
by Carlyle almost universally, as here, for the vivid introduction of new agents 
and events. — Point out other instances of the use of this figure in paragraph i. 

^ It is a common error to believe that Carlyle's sentences are exceedingly 
involved and complicated — an error which he himself shared ; for, speaking of 
himself under the guise of Herr Teufelsdroeckh, he says, " Of his sentences, 
perhaps not more than nine tenths stand straight on their legs ; the remainder 
are in quite angular attitudes, buttressed up by props (of parentheses and 
dashes), and even with this or the other tag-rag hanging from them, a few 
even sprawl out helplessly on all sides, quite broken-backed and dismember- 
ed." But, as a matter of fact, Carlyle's sentences are extremely simple in con- 
struction— " consisting," says Minto, "for the most part, of two or three co- 
ordinate statements, or of a short statement eked out by explanatory clauses 
either in apposition or in the nominative absolute construction." The distin- 
guishing mark of his sentential structure is, not that it is complicated, but that 
it is unconventional. It is an extravagant antithesis to the artificial, balanced, 
periodic structure as exemplified in Macaulay. 



THREE LURID PICTURES. 



421 



guess would become their king. For a king or leader they, as 
all bodies of men, must have : be their work what it may, there 
is one man there who, by character, faculty, position, is fittest of 5 
all to do it ; that man, as future not yet elected king, walks there 
among the rest. He with the thick black locks, will it be ? 
With the hiire, as himself calls it, or black boar' s-head, fit to be 
" shaken " as a senatorial portent? Through whose shaggy bee- 
tle-brows, and rough-hewn, seamed, carbuncled face, there look 10 
natural ugliness, small-pox, incontinence, bankruptcy, — and burn- 
ing fire of genius; like comet-fire glaring fuliginous* through 
murkiest confusions ? It is Gabriel Honore Riquetti de Mirabeau., 
the world-compeller; man-ruling Deputy of Aix ! According to 
the Baroness de Stael, he steps proudly along, though looked at 15 
askance* here; and shakes his black chevehire, or lion's-mane ; 
as if prophetic of great deeds. 



9. portent, something which portends 
or foretokens, especially that 
which portends evil. 

12. fnliginous, as through smoke. 

13. Mirabeau was born in 1749 and 

died in 1791. 
15. Baroness de Stael. Madame de Stael, 



the celebrated author of Co- 
riniie, etc., was a spectator of the 
procession, and gave her remi- 
niscences of it in a work entitled 
Cojtsiderations on the French 
Revolution^ 
16. chcTelure (Fr.), hair. 



Literary Analysis. — 7. He . . . beJ Change into the direct order. What 
did the author wish to emphasize .'' 

8. With, etc. Supply the ellipsis. 

9-13. Through . . . confusions J Supply the ellipsis. — Point out the most vig- 
orous epithets in this sentence. Point out an instance of personification. 

14. world-compeller. Perhaps a reminiscence of Homer's " cloud-compeller." 

15. he steps, etc. What is the present tense, as thus employed, called.' 

17. as if prophetic of great deeds. It will be observed that this clause is 
separated by the semicolon from the preceding member ("and shakes," etc.), 
with which it is logically connected. The intention seems to be, by an abrupt 
pause, to suggest iteration or apposition : it is as though the passage read : 
" and shakes his black chevelure, or lion's-mane ; [he does so] as if prophetic 
of great deeds." This construction, to which the name elliptical iteration may 
be given, is a favorite one with Carlyle. It is exemplified in this same para- 
graph (lines II, 12) "and burning fire of genius; like comet-fire," etc., where, 
supplying the ellipsis, we see the iterative, or appositive, construction: "and 
burning fire of genius ; [fire of genius] like comet-fire," etc. 



42 2 



CARLYLE. 



2. Yes, Reader, that is the Type-Frenchman of this epoch : as 
Voltaire was of the last. He is French in his aspirations, ac- 
quisitions, in his virtues, in his vices ; perhaps more French than 20 
any other man ; — and intrinsically such a mass of manhood too. 
Mark him well. The National Assembly were all different with- 
out that one ; nay, he might say with the old Despot : " The 
National Assembly? I am that." 

3, Of a southern climate, of wild southern blood : for the Ri- 25 
quettis, or Arrighettis, had to fly from Florence and the Guelfs, 
long centuries ago, and settled in Provence ; where from gener- 
ation to generation they have ever approved themselves a pecul- 
iar kindred : irascible, indomitable, sharp-cutting, true, like the 
steel they wore ; of an intensity and activity that sometimes 30 
verged towards madness, yet did not reach it. One ancient Ri- 
quetti, in mad fulfilment of a mad vow, chains two Mountains to- 
gether ; and the chain, with its " iron star of five rays," is still to 
be seen. May not a modern Riquetti /^/zchain so much, and set 

it drifting, — which also shall be seen .'' 35 



23. old Despot. Louis XIV., who, 
when some courtier spoke of 
the State, replied, " The State ? 
/ am the State " {Letat c'est 



26. tlie Guelfs. One of the two parties 
(the other being the Ghibel- 
lines) between whom Italian 
politics were long divided dur- 



moi). 1 ing the Middle Ages 



Literary Analysis. — 18-24. Yes . . . that. In paragraph 2 point out two 
examples of elliptical iteration. 

19, 20. ill his . . . vices. Carlyle's departure from the conventional arrange- 
ment of words is illustrated in a small way in this succession of phrases, the 
usual literary arrangement of which would be as follows : "in his aspirations 
and in his acquisitions, in his virtues and in his vices." 

22. were. Equivalent to what fuller form ? 

25. Of a . . . blood. Grammatical construction ? — Supply the ellipsis, which 
is here almost too great to be allowable. 

30. steel. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 29.) — of an intensity, 
etc. To what word is this an adjunct .'' 

31-35. One ancient . . . seen. Point out the antithetical words. — The clause 
"which also shall be seen," as here introduced, is a very characteristic Car- 
lylean touch. 



THREE LURID PICTURES. 



423 



4. Destiny has work for that swart burly-headed Mirabeau ; 
Destiny has watched over him, prepared him from afar. Did 
not his Grandfather, stout Col d' Argent (Silver-Stock, so they 
named him), shattered and slashed by seven-and-twenty wounds 
in one fell day, lie sunk together on the Bridge at Casano ; 40 
while Prince Eugene's cavalry galloped and regalloped over 
him, — only the flying sergeant had thrown a camp-kettle over 
that loved head ; and Vendome, dropping his spy-glass, moaned 
out, " Mirabeau is dead, then !" Nevertheless he was not dead; 
he awoke to breath, and miraculous surgery; — ^for Gabriel was 45 
yet to be. With his silver stock he kept his scarred head erect, 
through long years ; and wedded ; and produced tough Marquis 
Victor, the Friend of Men. Whereby at last in the appointed 
year 1749, this long-expected rough-hewn Gabriel Honore did 
likewise see the light : roughest lion's whelp ever littered of that 5° 
rough breed. How the old lion (for our old Marquis too was 
lionlike, most unconquerable, kingly-genial, most perverse) gazed 
wondering on his offspring ; and determined to train him as no 
lion had yet been ! It is in vain, O Marquis ! This cub, though 
thou slay him and flay him, will not learn to draw in dogcart of ss 
Political Economy, and be a Friend of Men ; he will not be Thou, 
but must and will be Himself, another than Thou. Divorce law- 
suits, " whole family save one in prison, and three-score Lettres- 
de-Cachef'' for thy own sole use, do but astonish the world. 

5. Our luckless Gabriel, sinned against and sinning, has been 60 



48. the Friend of Men. Mirabeau's 
father was author of a work 
entitled The Friend of Men 
{VAmi lies Hommes). 

58, 59. Lettres-de-Cacliet. These were a 
kind of warrant formerly in use 
in France. They were issued 



upon the royal authority alone 
(not in pursuance of any judg- 
ment of a court), and were used 
for ordering persons to quit 
Paris or France, or to be ar- 
rested and imprisoned. They 
were often made out in blank. 



Literary Analysis. — 36-59. In paragraph 4 point out an example of 
personification ; of interrogation ; of exclamation ; of elliptical iteration ; of 
metaphor ; of apostrophe. Point out all the names and epithets applied to 
Mirabeau. 

60. sinned against and sinning. Compare Shakespeare : 

" I am a man more sinned against than sinning." 

60-62. Our . . . Marseilles. In this sentence point out two instances of the 
choice of tellina; circumstances. 



42 4 



CARL YLE. 



in the Isle of Rhe, and heard the Atlantic from his tower; in 
the Castle of If, and heard the Mediterranean at Marseilles. 
He has been in the Fortress of Joux ; and forty-two months, 
with hardly clothing to his back, in the Dungeon of Vincennes ; 
— all by Lettre-de-Cachet, from his lion father. He has been in 65 
Pontarlier Jails (self-constituted prisoner) ; was noticed fording 
estuaides of the sea (at low water), in flight from the face of 
men. He has pleaded before Aix Parlements (to get back his 
wife) ; the public gathering on roofs, to see since they could not 
hear: "the clatter-teeth (claqiiedent) V snarls singular old Mira-70 
beau ; discerning in such admired forensic eloquence nothing 
but two clattering jaw-bones, and a head vacant, sonorous, of 
the drum species. 

6. But as for Gabriel Honore', in these strange wayfarings, 
what has he not seen and tried ! From drill-sergeants, to prime 75 
ministers, to foreign and domestic booksellers, all manner of men 
he has seen. All manner of men he has gained ; for at bot- 
tom it is a social, loving heart, that wild unconquerable one : — 
more especially all manner of women. From the Archer's 
Daughter at Saintes to that fair young Sophie Madame Mon- 80 
nier, whom he could not but " steal," and be beheaded for — in 
effigy ! For indeed hardly since the Arabian Prophet lay dead 
on the battle-field to All's admiration, was there seen such a 
Love-hero, with the strength of thirty men. In War, again, he 
has helped to conquer Corsica ; fought duels, irregular brawls ; 85 
horsewhipped calumnious barons. In Literature, he has written 



Literary Anai^ysis. — 65-73. He has . . . species. In what respects does 
this passage illustrate what Carlyle himself says respecting the structure of 
his sentences 1 (See page 420, note.) 

72, 73. Tiicant, sonorous, of tlie drum species. Which one of these epithets 
sums up the other two ? — Observe the asyndeton. 

74, 75. But . . . tried ! What kind of sentence grammatically ? 

75~77- From . . . seen. What kind of sentence rhetorically ? 

77. All . . . gained. Remark on the order of words. 

77, 78. for . . . one. Remove the pleonasm and change to the ordinary mode 
of expression. 

79. more • . . women. Grammatical construction ? 

79-82. From. . . effigy! Supply the ellipsis. — Is it proper to put into the 
form of a sentence what is the mere fragment of a sentence ? 

82-84. For . . . men. What kind of sentence rhetorically ? 



THREE LURID PICTURES. 



425 



on Despotisjn, on Lettres-de-Cachet : Erotics Sapphic-Werterean, 
Obscenities, Profanities ; Books on the Pnissiaii Monarchy, on 
Cagliostro, on Calofme,,ow the Water Companies of Paris : — each 
Book comparable, we will say, to a bituminous alarum-fire ; huge, 90 
smoky, sudden ! The firepan, the kindling, the bitumen were 
his own ; but the lumber, of rags, old wood and nameless com- 
bustible rubbish (for all is fuel to him), was gathered from huck- 
sters, and ass -panniers, of every description under heaven. 
Whereby, indeed, hucksters enough have been heard to exclaim : 95 
Out upon it, the fire is mine ! 

7. Nay, consider it more generally, seldom had man such a 
talent for borrowing. The idea, the faculty of another man he 
can make his ; the man himself he can make his. " All reflex 
and echo {toict de reflet et de reverbere) !" snarls old Mirabeau, 100 
who can see, but will not. Crabbed old Friend of Men ! it is 
his sociality, his aggregative nature ; and will now be the quality 
of qualities for him. In that forty years' " struggle against des- 
potism," he has gained the glorious faculty of self-help, and yet 
not lost the glorious natural gift oi fellowship, of being helped. 105 
Rare union : this man can live self-sufficing — yet lives also in the 
life of other men ; can make men love him, work with him ; a 
born king of men ! 

87. Sappliio-Werte.rean. This truly Car- j of love, and Werter, the hero in 

lylean adjective is derived from I Goethe's romance of The Sor- 

the names Sappho, the poetess 1 7-07vs of We7-ter. 



Literary Analysis. — 89-91. each ... sudden! A thoroughly Carlylean 
passage. — a bituminous alarum-fire. Explain. — Point out an instance of ellipti- 
cal iteration. 

91-94. Tlie firepan . . . lieaven. By what figurative expressions does the au- 
thor denote, on the one hand, Miiabeau's inspiration — his quickening faculty 
— and, on the other, the mere facts and material of which he made use in com- 
posing his works ? 

98, 99. The idea . . . liis. Transpose into the direct order. What effect 
does the author gain by the arrangement of words adopted? 

103-105. In . . . helped. What is the figure of speech.' (See Def. 18.) 

106-108. Rare... men! Supplying ellipsis and turning into the ordinary 
literary form, this sentence would appear thus : " This man presents a rare 
union of qualities : he can live self-sufficing ; yet he lives also in the life of 
other men, whom he can make love him and work with him. He is a born 
king of men." 



426 



CARL YLE. 



8. But consider further how, as the old Marquis still snarls, he 
has " made away with (htime, swallowed) all Fo7'mulas ;" — a fact no 
which, if we meditate it, will in these days mean much. This is 
no man of system, then ; he is only a man of instincts and in- 
sights. A man nevertheless who will glare fiercely on any ob- 
ject; and see. through it, and conquer it: for he has intellect, 
he has will, force beyond other men. A man not with logic-spec- 115 
fades ; but with an eye/ Unhappily without Decalogue, moral 
Code or Theorem of any fixed sort; yet not without a strong 
living Soul in him, and Sincerity there : a Reality, not an Arti- 
ficiality, not a Sham ! And so he, having struggled " forty years 
against despotism," and " made away with all formulas," shall 120 
now become the spokesman of a Nation bent to do the same. 
For is it not precisely the struggle of France also to cast off 
despotism ; to make away with her old formulas, — having found 
them naught, worn out, far from the reality.' She will make 
away with such formulas ; — and even go bare, if need be, till she 125 
have found new ones. 

9. Towards such work, in such manner, marches he, this sin- 
gular Riquetti Mirabeau. In fiery rough figure, with black 
Samson-locks under the slouch-hat, he steps along there. A 
fiery fuliginous mass, which could not be choked and smothered, 130 
but would fill all France with smoke. And now it has got air ; 

it will burn its whole substance, its whole smoke-atmosphere too, 
and fill all France with flame. Strange lot ! Forty years of that 
smouldering, with foul fire-damp and vapor enough ; then vic- 
tory over that ; — and like a burning mountain he blazes heaven- 135 
high ; and for twenty-three resplendent months, pours out, in 
flame and molten fire-torrents, all that is in him, the Pharos and 
Wonder-sign of an amazed Europe ; — and then lies hollow, cold 



137. Pharos. A light-house or beacon ; I ancient h"ght-house on the island 

from Pharos, the name of an of Pharos, near Alexandria. 



Literary Analysis. — no. a fact, etc. Grammatical construction? 
113-I15. A man . . . men. Supply the grammatical subject and predicate. 
115, 116. A man . . . eye! Point out the antithesis. 

127-141. In paragraph 9 point out an example of pleonasm ; of a period; 
uf metaphor; of emphatic epithets. 



THREE LURID PICTURES. 427 

forever ! Pass on, thou questionable Gabriel Honore, the 
greatest of them all : in the whole National Deputies, in the 14° 
whole Nation, there is none like and none second to thee. 

10. But now if Mirabeau is the greatest, who of these Six Hun- 
dred may be the meanest ? Shall we say, that anxious, slight, 
ineffectual-looking man, under thirty, in spectacles ; his eyes 
(were the glasses off) troubled, careful ; with upturned face, 145 
snufi&ng dimly the uncertain future time ; complexion of a mul- 
tiplex atrabiliar* color, the final shade of which may be the pale 
sea-green. That greenish-colored {verdatre) individual is an Ad- 
vocate of Arras ; his name is Maxhnilien Robespierre. The son 
of an Advocate ; his father founded mason-lodges under Charles 15° 
Edward, the English Prince or Pretender. Maximilien the first- 
born was thriftily educated ; he had brisk Camille Desmoulins 
for schoolmate in the College of Louis le Grand, at Paris. But 
he begged our famed Necklace-Cardinal, Rohan, the patron, to 
let him depart thence, and resign in favor of a younger brother. 155 
The strict-minded Max departed ; home to paternal Arras ; and 
even had a Law-case there and pleaded, not unsuccessfully, " in 
favor of the first Franklin thunder-rod." With a strict painful 
mind, an understanding small but clear and ready, he grew in 
favor with official persons, who could foresee in him an excellent 160 
man of business, happily quite free from genius. The Bishop, 
therefore, taking counsel, appoints him Judge of his diocese ; 
and he faithfully does justice to the people : till behold, one day, 
a culprit comes whose crime merits hanging ; and the strict- 
minded Max must abdicate, for his conscience will not permit 165 
the dooming of any son of Adam to die. A strict-minded, strait- 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 142, 143. But . . . meanest 2 What kind of sentence, 
grammatically and rhetorically .'' — may be. Note the softened form, in place 
of is. 

143-148. Shall . . . sea-green. Effect of the interrogative form ? 

149. The son, etc. Supply the ellipsis. 

158-161. With ... genius. What kind of sentence rhetorically.' — painful. 
Explain. 

161-166. The Bishop . . . die. Analyze this sentence. — Point out examples 
of the historical present. 

166, 167. A . . . man ! What kind of sentence grammatically .'' 



428 CARLYLE. 

laced man ! A man unfit for Revolutions ? Whose small soul, 
transparent wholesome-looking as small-ale, could by no chance 
ferment into virulent alegar, — the mother of ever new alegar ; till 
all France were grown acetous virulent ? We shall see. 17° 

II. And worthy Doctor Gi/inotm, v^hom we hoped to behold 
one other time ? If not here, the Doctor should be here, and we 
see him with the eye of prophecy : for indeed the Parisian Dep- 
uties are all a little late. Singular Guillotin, respectable prac- 
titioner ; doomed by a satiric destiny to the strangest immortal 175 
glory that ever kept obscure mortal from his resting-place, the 
bosom of oblivion ! Guillotin can improve the ventilation of the 
Hall ; in all cases of medical police and hygiene be a present 
aid : but, greater far, he can produce his " Report on the Penal 
Code;" and reveal therein a cunningly devised Beheading Ma- iSo 
chine, which shall become famous and world-famous. This is 
the product of Guillotin's endeavors, gained not without medita- 
tion and reading; which product popular gratitude or levity 
christens by a feminine derivative name, as if it were his daugh- 
ter : La Ginllotine ! " With my machine. Messieurs, I whisk off 185 
your head (t'ous fais sauter la fete) in a twinkling, and you have 
no pain ;" — whereat they all laugh. Unfortunate Doctor ! 
For two-and-twenty years he, unguillotined, shall hear nothing 
but guillotine, see nothing but guillotine ; then dying, shall 
through long centuries wander, as it were, a disconsolate ghost, 190 
on the wrong side of Styx and Lethe ; his name like to outlive 
Caesar's. 



Literary Analysis. — 167-170. Whose. . . TirnleutJ Point out the figura- 
tive expressions. 

171-192. And worthy . . . Ciesar's. Supply all the ellipses in paragraph il. 



XXIX. 

THOMAS B. MACAULAY„ 

1800-1859. 




CHARACTERIZATION BY E. A. FREEMAN. 

I. Macaulay is a model of style — of style not merely as a kind 
of literary luxury, but of style in its practical aspect. When I 
say he is a model of style, I do not mean that it is wise in any 
writer to copy Macaulay's style — to try to write something that 



43 o 



MACAULAY. 



might be mistaken for Macaulay's writing. So to do is not to 
follow in the steps of a great writer, but merely to imitate his 
outward manner. So to do is not the part of a disciple, but the 
part of an ape. But every one who wishes to write clear and 
pure English will do well to become, not Macaulay's ape, but 
Macaulay's disciple. Every writer of English will do well not 
only to study Macaulay's writings, but to bear them in his mind, 
and very often to ask himself not whether his writing is like 
Macaulay's writing, but whether his writing is such as Macaulay 
would have approved. 

2. I know at least what my own experience is. It is for others 
to judge whether I have learned of Macaulay the art of being 
clear; I at least learned of Macaulay the duty of trying to be 
clear. And I learned that in order to be clear there were two 
main rules to be followed. I learned from Macaulay that if I 
wished to be understood by others, or indeed by myself, I must 
avoid, not always long sentences — for long sentences may often 
be perfectly clear — but involved, complicated, parenthetical sen- 
tences. I learned that I must avoid sentences crowded with 
relatives and participles ; sentences in which things are not so 
much directly stated as implied in some dark and puzzling fash- 
ion. I learned, also, never to be afraid of using the same word 
or name over and over again, if by that means anything could be 
added to clearness or force. Macaulay never goes on, like some 
writers, talking about "the former" and "the latter," "he, she, 
it, they," through clause after clause, while his reader has to look 
back to see which of several persons it is that is so darkly re- 
ferred to. No doubt a pronoun, like any other word, may often 
be repeated with advantage, if it is perfectly clear who is meant 
by the noun. And with Macaulay's pronouns it is always per- 
fectly clear who is meant by them. 

3. Then as to his choice of words. Here and there I myself 
might perhaps think that a Romance word might well be changed 
for a Teutonic word. Certainly no one can charge Macaulay 
with what is called pedantry or purism, in a Teutonic direction, 
or in any direction. Still, where I might wish to change one 
word in Macaula)^, I might wish to change ten or a hundred in 
most other writers. Macaulay never uses a word which, whatever 
might be its .origin, had not really taken root in the language. 



FREEMAN'S CHARACTERIZATION OF MA CAUL AY. 



431 



He has no vulgarisms, no newfangled or affected expressions. 
No man was ever so clear from the vice of thrusting in foreign 
words into an English sentence. 

4. In short, Macaulay never allows himself for a moment to 
be careless, vulgar, or slipshod. Every person and every thing 
is called by the right name, and no other. And because he did 
all this, because he wrote such clear and well-chosen English 
that the printer's reader himself never had to read his sentences 
twice over, therefore men who cannot write as he could talk 
glibly of his "mannerism" and so forth. Everybody, I suppose, 
must have some manner. Lord Macaulay had a good manner, 
and not a bad one, and therefore he is found fault with. 

5. Without, therefore, recommending any one to imitate Ma- 
caulay's manner, or the manner of any one, I do say that in all 
this Macaulay has left to every writer of English an example 
which every writer of English will do well to follow. The care 
which Macaulay took to write, before all things, good and clear 
English maybe followed by writers who make no attempt to imi- 
tate his style, and who may be led by nature to some quite differ- 
ent style of their own. Many styles which are quite unlike one 
another may all be equally good ; but no style can be good 
which does not use pure and straightforward English. No style 
can be good where the reader has to read a sentence twice over 
to find out its meaning. In these ways the writings of Macaulay 
may be a direct model to writers and speakers whose natural 
taste, whose subject, or whose audience may lead them to a style 
quite unlike his. In every language and in every kind of writing 
purity of speech and clearness of expression must be the first 
virtues of all. 



432 



MACAU LAY. 



THE PURITANS. 

[Introduction. — The following sketch of the Puritans is from Macaulay's 
brilliant paper on Milton, first published in the Edinbw'gh Review for 1825. 
In his maturer years Macaulay thought lightly of this essay, and spoke of it 
as "overloaded with gaudy and ungraceful ornataent." But this stricture is 
less applicable to the present passage than to other parts of the paper. And 
though it bears the marks of youth (the essay was written when the author 
was fresh from college), it affords an excellent study in some of the most 
salient characteristics of Macaulay's style.] 

I. We would speak first of the Puritans, the most remarkable 
body of men, perhaps, which the world has ever produced. The 
odious and ridiculous parts of their character lie on the surface. 
He that runs may read them; nor have there been wanting at- 
tentive and malicious observers to point them out. For many 5 
years after the Restoration, they were the theme of unmeasured 
invective and derision. They were exposed to the utmost licen- 
tiousness of the press and of the stage, at the time when the 
press and the stage were most licentious. They were not men 
of letters ; they were as a body unpopular; they could not defend 10 
themselves ; and the public would not take them under its pro- 
tection. They were therefore abandoned, without reserve, to the 



Notes. — Line i. Puritans. The name 
Puritan (from pure) arose in the 
time of Queen Elizabeth as a 
designation of reproach (or nick- 
name) for those who opposed 
traditional and formal usages 
in religion, and advocated a 



simpler form of faith and wor- 
ship than that which was es- 
tablished by law. 
6. the Restoration : that is, the resto- 
ration of the House of Stuart 
in the person of Charles IL, 
1660. 



Literary Analysis. — Macaulay makes frequent use of a rhetorical instru- 
ment technically known as "obverse statement :" that is, denying the negative 
before affirming the positive, stating first what a person is not and then stat- 
ing what he is. — Point out examples of this in paragraphs I and 2. 

1-22. We . . . writers. In paragraph I how many sentences are there? To 
what type, rhetorically, do all these sentences belong ? Are they generally 
long, or are they generally short? — Mr. Freeman states (see Cha7-acterization) 
that " with Macaulay's pronouns it is always perfectly clear who is meant by 
them." This is undoubtedly a marked excellence of Macaulay's writing ; but 
in paragraph I point out an instance of a pronoun (3d pers. plural) used am- 
biguously. 



THE PURITANS. 



433 



tender mercies of the satirists and dramatists. Tlae ostentatious 
simplicity of their dress, tlieir sour aspect, their nasal twang, their 
stiff posture, their long graces, their Hebrew names, the scrip- is 
tural phrases which they introduced on every occasion, their con- 
tempt of human learning, their detestation of polite amusements, 
were indeed fair game for the laughers. But it is not from the 
laughers alone that the philosophy of history is to be learned. 
And he who approaches this subject should carefully guard 20 
against the influence of that potent ridicule which has already 
misled so many excellent writers. 

2. Those who roused the people to resistance, who directed 
their measures through a long series of eventful years, who 
formed, out of the most unpromising materials, the finest army 25 
that Europe had ever seen, who trampled down king, Church, and 
aristocracy, who, in the short intervals of domestic sedition and 
rebellion, made the name of England terrible to every nation on 
the face of the earth, were no vulgar fanatics.* Most of their ab- 
surdities were mere external badges, like the signs of freemason- 30 
ry, or the dresses of friars. We regret that these badges were 
not more attractive. We regret that a body to whose courage 
and talents mankind has owed inestimable obligations had not 
the lofty elegance which distinguished some of the adherents of 
Charles I., or the easy good-breeding for which the court ofss 
Charles 11. was celebrated. But, if we must make our choice, 
we shall, like Bassanio in the play, turn from the specious caskets, 
which contain only the death's head and the fool's head, and 



37. Bassanio in the play. See Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice, act iii., 
scene 2. 



Literary Analysis.— 23-29. Those . . . fanatics. What is the figure of 
speech? (See Def. 33.) — What is the grammatical subject of "were?" — By 
how many adjuncts and of what kind is it modified ? — Give the derivation of 
"fanatics." 

31-40. We regret . . . treasure. Macaulay often erects into separate sentences 
propositions which other writers would introduce as members or clauses of a 
single sentence. This manner of writing (called the style coupe) is illustrated 
in these three sentences, which the pupil may rewrite as one sentence. — Ex- 
plain the allusion in the last sentence. 

28 



434 MACAULAY. 

fix our choice on the plain leaden chest which conceals the 
treasure. 40 

3. The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a peculiar 
character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and 
eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging, in general 
t^rms, an over-ruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every 
event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power nothing 45 
was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too minute. To 
know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them the great 
end of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious 
homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the 
soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity 50 
through an obscuring veil, they aspired to gaze full on the in- 
tolerable brightness, and to commune with him face to face. 
Hence originated their contempt for terrestrial distinctions. 
The difference between the greatest and meanest of mankind 
seemed to^ vanish, when compared with the boundless interval ss 
which separated the whole race from him on whom their own 
eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to superi- 
ority but his favor- and, confident of that favor, they despised 
all the accomplishments and all the dignities of the world. If 
they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers and 60 
poets, they were deeply read in the oracles* of God ; if their 
names were not found in the registers of heralds, they felt as- 
sured that they were recorded in the Book of Life ; if their 
steps were not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, le- 
gions of ministering angels had charge over them. Their palaces 65 
were houses not made with hands; their diadems crowns of glory 



61. the oracles of God: that is, the Holy I was to record and blazon the 

Scriptures. arms of the nobility and gen- 

62. heralds, officers whose business it | try. 



Literary Analysis. — 43-46. Not . . . minute. What kind of sentence 
rhetorically.' — Point out antithetical expressions. 

46-48. To know . . . existence. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 
33.) 

50-52. Instead . . . face. What is the figure of speech.? 

59-65. If . . . them. In this sentence how many antitheses ? Considered as 
a whole the sentence illustrates what figure .' (See Def. 18, iii.) 



THE PURITANS. 



435 



which should never fade away! On the rich and the eloquent, 
on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt ; for they 
esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and elo- 
quent in a more sublime language — nobles by the right of an 70 
earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a mightier hand. 
The very meanest of them was a being to whose fate a mysterious 
and terrible importance belonged — on whose slightest actions the 
spirits of light and darkness looked with anxious interest — who 
had been destined, before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy 75 
a felicity which should continue when heaven and earth should 
have passed away. Events which short-sighted politicians as- 
cribed to earthly causes had been ordained on his account. For 
his sake empires had risen and flourished and decayed. For 
his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the 80 
evangelist and the harp of the prophet. He had been rescued 
by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He 
had been ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood 
of no earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had been 
darkened, that the rocks had been rent, and the dead had arisen, 85 
that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring 
God! 

4. Thus the Puritan was made up of two different men, the 
one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion, the other 
proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He prostrated himself in the 90 
dust before his Maker; but he set his foot on the neck of his 



Literary Analysis. — 67-71. On the rich . . . hand. Analyze this fine sen- 
tence. What is its structure — periodic, or loose ? — Point out in detail how the 
statement in the first member is carried out in the second. — Observe the ef- 
fective use made of the technical terms "creation" and "imposition." 

72-77. The . . . ansiy. What adjective clauses modify the word "being?" 

79-81. For. . . prophet. What is the figure of speech.? — Would this sen- 
tence be as effective if expressed as follows : " For his sake the Almighty had 
proclaimed his will by the evangelist and the prophet.''" Give reasons for 
your opinion. 

81,82. He . . . foe. Is the repetition of the word "common" to be con- 
demned? Why not? — Substitute a synonym for the last "common," and see 
if the sentence remains equally artistic in its structure. 

82-87. He . . . God. Explain the allusions. — Does this passage partake of 
hyperbole ? 

88-92. Thus . . . king. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 18.) 



436 



MA CAUL AY. 



king. In his devotional retirement, he prayed with convulsions 
and groans and tears. He was half- maddened by glorious or 
terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of angels or the tempting 
whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the Beatific Vision, or 95 
woke screaming from dreams of everlasting fire. Like Vane, he 
thought himself intrusted with the sceptre of the millennial year. 
Like Fleetwood, he cried in the bitterness of his soul that God 
had hid his face from him. But when he took his seat in the 
council, or girt on his sword for war, these tempestuous work- 100 
ings of the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them. 
People who saw nothing of the godly but their uncouth visages, 
and heard nothing from them but their groans and their whin- 
ing hymns, might laugh at them. But those had little reason to 
laugh who encountered them in the hall of debate or in the field 105 
of battle. These fanatics brought to civil and military affairs a 
coolness of judgment and an immutability of purpose which 
some writers have thought inconsistent with their religious zeal, 
but which were in fact the necessary effects of it. The intensity 
of their feelings on one subject made them tranquil on every no 
other. One overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself pity 
and hatred, ambition and fear. Death had lost its terrors and 
pleasure its charms. They had their smiles and their tears, their 
raptures and their sorrows, but not for the things of this world. 
Enthusiasm had made them Stoics, had cleared their minds from ns 



96. Vane, Sir Henry, was on the Pai'lia- 
mentary side during the English 
Civil War, and was a member 
of the Council of State. 



98. Fleetwood, Charles, a conspicuous 
figure in the English Civil War ; 
he was a son-in-law of Crom- 
well. 



Literary Analysis. — 92, 93. In . . . tears. Remark on the conjunctions. 

93, 94. glorious or terrible illusions. Point out in detail how this is ampli- 
fied in the next two sentences. And observe, in the succeeding two sentences, 
the art with which the thought is enforced by examples. 

99-101. But. • . them. What kind of sentence rhetorically? 

104-106. But . . . battle. Change the order of this sentence so as to bring 
the adjective clause next to the subject, and observe how much less effective 
the sentence becomes. 

106-123. These fanatics . . . barrier. In these sentences point out examples 
of antithesis. Of balanced sentences. 



THE PURITANS. 



437 



every vulgar passion and prejudice, and raised them above the 
influence of danger and of corruption. It sometimes miglit lead 
them to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. 
They went through the world, like Sir Artegal's iron man Talus 
with his flail, crushing and trampling down oppressors, mingling 120 
with human beings, but having neither part nor lot in human in- 
firmities, insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain, not to be 
pierced by any weapon, not to be withstood by any barrier. 



119. Sir Arteg-al's iron man Talus. By 

Spenser {Faerie Queeiie, canto 
V.) Talus is thus represented : 

*' His name was Talus, made of yron mould, 
Immovable, resistless, without eud. 
Who, in his hand, an yron flail doth hold. 
With which he threshed out falsehood and did 
truth unfold." 



In Spenser, Talus appears as 
the attendant of " the Cham- 
pion of True Justice, Artegal ;" 
but in Grecian mythology he 
is a brazen man, made by Vul- 
can, to guard the island of 
Crete. 



XXX. 

RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 

1803. 




CHARACTERIZATION BY A. BRONSON ALCOTT.' 

I. Poet and moralist, Emerson has beauty and truth for all 
men's edification and delight. His works are studies. And 

^ From Conco7-d Days, by A. Bronson Alcott. It should be stated that in 
the above extract some changes have been made in the order in which the 
paragraphs stand in Mr. Alcott's fine paper. 



ALCOrrS CHARACTERIZATION OF EMERSON. 



439 



any youth of free senses and fresh affections shall be spared 
years of tedious toil, in which wisdom and fair learning are, for 
the most part, held at arm's length, planet's width, from his 
grasp, by graduating from this college. His books are sur- 
charged with vigorous thoughts, a sprightly wit. They abound 
in strong sense, happy humor, keen criticisms, subtile insights, 
noble morals, clothed in a chaste and manly diction, fresh with 
the breath of health and progress. 

2. We characterize and class him with the moralists who sur- 
prise us with an accidental wisdom, strokes of wit, felicities of 
phrase — as Plutarch, Seneca, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Saadi, 
Montaigne, Bacon, Selden, Sir Thomas Browne, Cowley, Cole- 
ridge, Goethe — with whose delightful essays, notwithstanding all 
the pleasure they give us, we still plead our disappointment at 
not having been admitted to the closer intimacy which these 
loyal leaves had with their owner's mind before torn from his 
note-book, jealous even at not having been taken into his con- 
fidence in the editing itself. 

3. We read, never as if he were the dogmatist, but a fair 
speaking mind, frankly declaring his convictions, and commit- 
ting these to our consideration, hoping we may have thought 
like things ourselves ; oftenest, indeed, taking this for granted 
as he wrote. There is nothing of the spirit of proselyting, but 
the delightful deference ever to our free sense and right opinion. 

4. Consider how largely our letters have been enriched by his 
contributions. Consider, too, the change his views have wrought 
in our methods of thinking ; how he has won over the bigot, the 
unbeliever, at least to tolerance and moderation, if not acknowl- 
edgment, by his circumspection and candor of statement. 

" His shining armor, 
A perfect charmer ; 
Even the hornets of divinity- 
Allow him a brief space, 
And his thought has a place 
Upon the well-bound library's chaste shelves, 
Where man of various wisdom rarely delves." 

5. Emerson's compositions affect us, not as logic linked in syl- 
logisms, but as voluntaries rather — as preludes, in which one is 
not tied to any design of air, but may vary his key or note at 



440 



EMERSON. 



pleasure, as if improvised without any particular scope of argu- 
ment ; each period, paragraph, being a perfect note in itself, 
however it may chance chime with its accompaniments in the 
piece, as a waltz of wandering stars, a dance of Hesperus with 
Orion. His rhetoric dazzles by its circuits, contrasts, antitheses ; 
imagination, as in all sprightly minds, being his wand of power. 
He comes along his own paths, too, and in his own fashion. 
What though he build his piers downwards from the firmament 
to the tumbling tides, and so throw his radiant span across the 
fissures of his argument, and himself pass over the frolic arches 
Arielwise — is the skill less admirable, the masonry the less se- 
cure for its singularity ? So-his books are best read as irregular 
writings, in which the sentiment is, by his enthusiasm, transfused 
throughout the piece, telling on the mind in cadences of a cur- 
rent undersong, giving the impression of a connected whole — 
which it seldom is — such is the rhapsodist's cunning in its 
structure and delivery. 



COMPENSA TION. 



I.— COMPENSATION. 



441 



[Introduction. — The following selection comprises about one half of Mr. 
Emerson's essay on Compensatioti, first published in 1841, in his Essays — first 
series. The paper is one of marvellous power and suggestiveness, and forms, 
perhaps, the most characteristic presentation of Mr. Emerson's philosophy 
and style that could be given in the space here available. It is the utterance 
of his deepest thought, and had been long meditated, for he tells us that ever 
since he was a boy he had " desired to write a discourse on Compensation.'" 
And this discourse cannot but be thought-awakening to all ingenuous youth 
open to the reception of the higher truths.] 

I. Ever since I was a boy I have wished to write a discourse 
on Compensation;* for it seemed to me wlien very young that 
on this subject life was ahead of theology, and the people knew 



Literary Analysis. — The style of Emerson should be carefully studied 
by the pupil. And the more so that, from the absence of rhetorical manner- 
ism in his writing — such mannerism, for example, as that of Carlyle or Macau- 
lay — the quality of his literary art may escape the untrained student. His vo- 
cabulary is drawn both from literature and from life, and has a wide range. 
It is finely compounded of -the Latin and the Anglo-Saxon elements. His 
words are learned or homely and realistic as best befits his thought ; but it 
should be noted that his learned words are always vitalized words, which Dr. 
Johnson's learned words are often not. The structure of his sentences is inar- 
tificial. His sentences are generally short {style cottpe), and he sometimes 
goes further even than Macaulay in erecting into separate sentences propositions 
which other writers would incorporate as constituent members or qualifiers of 
a single sentence. The principal figures of speech employed by this author 
are: (i) antithesis, (2) metaphor, and (3) simile. The first figure (antithesis) is 
specially characteristic of Emerson ; but it will be noted that the antitheses 
are real antitheses, not, as Macaulay's antitheses are so often, the mere rhetor- 
ical opposition of terms. Mr. Emerson employs figures of speech not as mere 
ornaments : he inlays them in the organic structure of the thought. 

2. Compensation. Give the derivation of this word, and state the metaphor 
on which it rests. — Mr. Emerson, in another of his Essays — that on The Poet 
— says : " Though the origin of most of our words is forgotten, each word was 
at first a stroke of genius, and obtained currency, because for the moment it 
symbolized the word to the first speaker and to the hearer. The etymologist 
finds the deadest word to have been once a brilliant picture. Language is fos- 
sil poetry P 

3, 4. Show the dependence of the following clauses — 

a. [that] life was ahead of theology ; 

b. [that] the people knew more than the preachers taught. 

What expression in the second proposition is an amplified equivalent of 
"theology" in the first? 



442 



EMERSON. 



more than the preachers taught. The documents,* too, from which 
the doctrine is to be drawn charmed my fancy by their endless s 
variety, and lay always before me, even in sleep ; for they are 
the tools in our hands, the bread in our basket, the transactions 
of the street, the farm, and the dwelling-house, greetings, rela- 
tions, debts and credits, the influence of character, the nature and 
endowment of all men. It seemed to me, also, that in it might lo 
be shown men a ray of divinity, the present action of the soul of 
this world, clean from all vestige of tradition, and so the heart 
of man might be bathed by an inundation* of eternal love, con- 
versing with that which he knows was always, and always must 
be, because it really is now. It appeared, moreover, that if this 15 
doctrine could be stated in terms with any resemblance to those 
bright intuitions * in which this truth is sometimes revealed to us, 
it would be a star in many dark hours and crooked passages in 
our journey that would not suffer us to lose our way, . . . 

2. Polarity,* or action and reaction, we meet in every part of 20 
nature — -in darkness and light; in heat and cold; in the ebb and 
flow of waters; in male and female; in the inspiration ,and ex- 
piration of plants and animals ; in the equation of quantity and 
quality in the fluids of the animal body; in the systole* and dias- 



LlTERARY Analysis. — 4. documents. What are the documents from which 
the doctrine is to be drawn.'' Accordingly, is the word "documents" used in 
its ordinary sense, or has it a larger significance here ? — Observe that these 
documents maybe regarded as an expanded equivalent of "life" in sentence i. 

10, II. might be shown. What is the subject of this verb.'' — Is the order 
grammatical or rhetorical .-' 

11, 12. the soul of this world. Compare Shakespeare's overarching phrase — 

"the prophetic soul 
Of the wide world dreaming of things to come." 

13. bathed by an inundiition, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 
20.) — Show how the metaphor in the word "inundation" carries out the fig- 
ure in "bathed." 

17, intuitions. Give an Anglo-Saxon synonym of " intuition." 

18. would be a star. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) 
20-27. Polarity . . . aiBnity. What is the figure of speech .-' (See Def. 18. 

The name synceceosis, or enantiosis, is sometimes given to this particular form 
of antithesis, in which things of an opposite or different nature are contrasted 
with one another.) Etymology of "polarity?" — Subject or object? — Why is 
this word placed at the beginning of the sentence ? — Point out the antitheses 
in this sentence. — Indicate and define the technical terms in this sentence. 



COM PENS A TION. 443 

tole * of the heart ; in the undulations * of fluids and of sound ; in 25 
the centrifugal and centripetal gravity ; in electricity, galvanism, 
and chemical affinity. Superinduce magnetism* at one end of a 
needle, the opposite magnetism takes place at the other end. If 
the south attracts, the north repels. To empty here, you must 
condense there. An inevitable dualism"* bisects nature, so that 30 
each thing is a half, and suggests another thing to make it 
whole; as, spirit, matter; man, woman; odd, even; subjective, 
objective; in, out; upper, under; motion, rest; yea, nay. 

3. Whilst the world is thus dual, so is every one of its parts. 
The entire system of things gets represented in every particle. 35 
There is somewhat that resembles the ebb and flow of the sea, 
day and night, man and woman, in a single needle of the pine, in 

a kernel of corn, in each individual of every animal tribe. The 
reaction, so grand in the elements, is repeated within these small 
boundaries. For example, in the animal kingdom the physiol-40 
ogist has observed that no creatures are favorites, but a certain 
compensation balances every gift and every defect. A surplus- 
age* given to one part is paid out of a reduction from another 
part of the same creature. If the head and neck are enlarged, 
the trunk and extremities are cut short. 45 

4. The theory of the mechanic forces is another example. 
What we gain in power is lost in time ; and the converse. The 
periodic or compensating errors of the planets are another in- 
stance. The influences of climate and soil in political history 
are another. The cold climate invigorates. The barren soil 5° 
does not breed fevers, crocodiles, tigers, or scorpions. 

5. The same dualism underlies the nature and condition of 



Literary Analysis. — 30. dualism bisects nature. How is this explained 
in the subsequent part of the sentence ? 

32. as spirit, matter, etc. Can you give any other instances of the " dual- 
ism " in nature ? 

39, 40. these small boundaries. Of what previous phrase is this a summa- 
rized expression ? 

46-51. The theory . . . scorpions. Of how many sentences does this paragraph 
consist ? — State to what class, grammatically and rhetorically, each sentence 
belongs. — What statements illustrate " the influences of climate and soil ?" 

52-74. The same . . . true. To what is the application of the doctrine of 
dualism made in this paragraph ? — Point out examples of antithesis. — Point 
out an example of personification. 



444 



EMERSON. 



man. Every excess causes a defect ; every defect an excess. 
Every sweet hath its sour ; every evil its good. Every faculty 
which is a receiver of pleasure has an equal penalty put on its ss 
abuse. It is to answer for its moderation with its life. For every 
grain of wit there is a grain of folly. For everything you have 
missed you have gained something else ; and for everything you 
gain you lose something. If riches increase, they are increased 
that use them. If the gatherer gathers too much, Nature takes 60 
out of the man what she puts into his chest ; swells the estate, 
but kills the owner. Nature hates monopolies and exceptions. 
The waves of the sea do not more speedily seek a level from 
their loftiest tossing, than the varieties of conditions tend to 
equalize themselves. There is always some levelling circum-65 
stance that puts down the overbearing, the strong, the rich, the 
fortunate, substantially on the same ground with all others. Is a 
man too strong and fierce for society, and by temper and position 
a bad citizen, — a morose ruffian, with a dash of pirate in him ; 
— Nature sends him a troop of pretty sons and daughters, who 7° 
are getting along in the dame's classes in the village school, and 
love and fear for them smooth his grim scowl to courtesy. Thus 
she contrives to intenerate* the granite and felspar, takes the 
boar out and puts the lamb in, and keeps her balance true. 

6. The farmer imagines power and place are fine things. But 75 
the President has paid dear for his White House. It has common- 
ly cost him all his peace and the best of his manly attributes. To 
preserve for a short time so conspicuous an appearance before the 
world, he is content to eat dust before the real masters who stand 
erect behind the throne. Or, do men desire the more substantial 80 
and permanent grandeur of genius ? Neither has this an immu- 
nity. He who by force of will or thought is great, and overlooks 



Literary Analysis. — 73. Etymology of " intenerate ?" 

73, 74. What is the figure of speech in " takes the boar out," etc. 

75. The farmer . . . things. Analyze this sentence. 

76. paid dear for his "White House. Explain, and express the idea in general 
in place oi specific terms. Note the superior effectiveness of the specific mode 
of statement. 

78-80. To preserve . . . throne. Indicate briefly the analysis of this sentence. 
—behind the throne. Literal or figurative 1 Express in plain language. 
81, 82. an immnnity. Explain. 



COMPENSA TIOiV. 



445 



thousands, has the charges of that eminence. With every influx 
of light comes new danger. Has he Hght ? — he must bear wit- 
ness to the light, and always outrun that sympathy which gives 85 
him such keen satisfaction by his fidelity to new revelations of 
the incessant soul. He must hate father and mother, wife and 
child. Has he all that the world loves and admires and covets? 
— he must cast behind him their admiration, and afflict them by 
faithfulness to his truth, and become a byword and a hissing. ... 90 

7. Thus is the universe alive. All things are moral. That 
soul which within us is a sentiment, outside of us is a law. We 
feel its inspiration; out there in history we can see its fatal 
strength. " It is in the world, and the world was made by it." 
Justice is not postponed. A perfect equity adjusts its balance 95 
in all parts of life. Ot KvftoL Aioc ueI ehwlwrovm — The dice of God 
are always loaded. The world looks like a multiplication-table, 
or a mathematical equation, which, turn it how you will, balances 
itself. Take what figure you will, its exact value, nor more nor 
less, still returns to you. Every secret is told, every crime is 100 
punished, every virtue rewarded, every wrong redressed, in silence 
and certainty. What we call retribution is the universal neces- 
sity by which the whole appears wherever a part appears. If you 
see smoke, there must be fire. If you see a hand or a limb, you 
know that the trunk to which it belongs is there behind. 105 

8. Every act rewards itself, or, in other words, integrates* itself 
in a twofold manner: first, in the thing, or in real nature; and, 
secondly, in the circumstance, or in apparent nature. Men call 
the circumstance the retribution. The causal retribution is in 
the thing, and is seen by the soul. The retribution in the cir-no 
cumstance is seen by the understanding ; it is inseparable from 
the thing, but is often spread over a long time, and so does not 



Literary Analysis. — 84, 85. lie must bear witness, etc. What do you 
think the author means ? 

91,92. Thus ... law. What are the three propositions? (These well il- 
lustrate the aphoristic form of statement which may be characterized as pe- 
culiarly Emersonian.) 

94. It is, etc. What is the allusion? 

96. Oi, etc. The Greek words (translated immediately afterwards) are 
thus anglicized : Hoi ktiboi Dios aei etcpiptotisi. 

106. integrates. Show by its etymology the felicitous use of this word. 



446 EMERSON. 

become distinct until after many years. The specific stripes 
may follow late after the offence, but they follow because they ac- 
company it. Crime and punishment grow out of one stem. Pun- 115 
ishment is a fruit that unsuspected ripens within the flower of the 
pleasure which concealed it. Cause and effect, means and ends, 
seed and fruit, cannot be severed ; for the effect already blooms 
in the cause, the end pre-exists in the means, the fruit in the seed. 

9. Whilst thus the world will be whole, and refuses to be dis- 120 
parted, we seek to act partially, to sunder, to appropriate. For 
example, to gratify the senses we sever the pleasure of the senses 
from the needs of the character. The ingenuity of man has al- 
ways been dedicated to the solution of one problem — how to de- 
tach the sensual sweet, the sensual strong, the sensual bright, 125 
etc., from the moral sweet, the moral deep, the moral fair ; that 
is, again, to contrive to cut clean off this upper surface so thin 
as to leave it bottomless ; to get a one ^•//^ without an other end. 
The soul says. Eat ; the body would feast. The soul says. The 
man and woman shall be one flesh and one soul ; the body would 130 
join the flesh only. The soul says, Have dominion over all 
things to the end of virtue ; the body would have the power over 
things to its own end. . . . 

10. Still more striking is the expression of this fact in the 
proverbs of all nations, which are always the literature of rea- 135 
son or the statements of an absolute truth, without qualification. 
Proverbs, like the sacred books of each nation, are the sanctuary 
of the intuitions. That which the droning world, chained to ap- 
pearances, will not allow the realist to say in his own words, it 
will suffer him to say in proverbs without contradiction. And 140 
this law of laws, which the pulpit, the senate, and the college 



Literary Analysis. — 115. grow out of one stem. Change into plain lan- 
guage. 

116. is a fruit, etc. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 20.) 

125. the sensual sweet, etc. Point out the contrasting epithets and substan- 
tives. 

134. Still more, etc. Transpose into the direct order. 

137, 138. ProTerbs . . . intuitions. Express in your own words this sentence, 
which should be committed to memory. 

1381 139- the (ironing world . . . the realist. Observe the deep meaning in 
these antithetical terms. 

141. the pulpit, the senate, and the college. Is this synecdoche or metonymy.'' 



COMPENSA TION. 447 

deny, is hourly preached in all markets and workshops by flights 
of proverbs, whose teaching is as true and as omnipresent as that 
of birds and flies. 

11. All things are double, one against another — tit for tat; an 145 
eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth; blood for blood; measure 
for measure ; love for love. Give and it shall be given you. He 
that watereth shall be watered himself. What will you have? 
quoth God ; pay for it and take it. Nothing venture, nothing have. 
Thou shalt be paid exactly for what thou hast done, no more, no 150 
less. Who doth not work shall not eat. Harm watch, harm 
catch. Curses always recoil on the head of him who imprecates 
them. If you put a chain around the neck of a slave, the other 
end fastens itself around your own. Bad counsel confounds the 
adviser. The devil is an ass. 155 

12. It is thus written, because it is thus in life. Our action is 
overmastered and characterized above our will by the law of nat- 
ure. We aim at a petty end quite aside from the public good, 
but our act arranges itself by irresistible magnetism in a line with 
the poles of the world. 16° 

13. A man cannot speak but he judges himself. With his will 
or against his will, he draws his portrait to the eye of his com- 
panions by every word. Every opinion reacts on him who utters 
it. It is a thread-ball thrown at a mark, but the other end re- 
mains in the thrower's bag. Or, rather, it is a harpoon hurled at 165 
the whale, unwinding as it flies a coil of cord in the boat ; and 

if the harpoon is not good, or not well thrown, it will go nigh to 
cut the steersman in twain or to sink the boat. 

14. You cannot do wrong without suffering wrong. " No man 
had ever a point of pride that was not injurious to him," said 170 
Burke. The exclusive in fashionable life does not see that he ex- 
cludes himself from enjoyment in the attempt to appropriate it. 



Literary Analysis.— 145-155. All . . . adviser. Point out the antitheses. 

159, 160. our act . . . world. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) 

162. draws his portrait. Express in other words. 

165. it is a hiirpooii, etc. "What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 20.)— 
State the application of the figure to the thought. 

171. The exclusive. What is the distinction between "the exclusive" and 
"the exclusionist " (line 173)? 



448 EMERSON. 

The exclusionisf* in religion does not see that he shuts the door 
of heaven on himself in striving to shut out others. Treat men 
as pawns and nine-pins, and you shall suffer as well as they. If 17s 
you leave out their heart, you shall lose your own. The senses 
would make things of all persons — of women, of children, of the 
poor. The vulgar* proverb,"! will get it from his purse or get 
it from his skin," is sound philosophy. 

15. All infractions of love and equity in our social relations iSo 
are speedily punished. They are punished by fear. Whilst I 
stand in simple relations to my fellow-man I have no displeasure 

in meeting him. We meet as water meets water, or as two cur- 
rents of air mix, with perfect diffusion and interpenetration of 
nature. But as soon as there is any departure from simplicity, 185 
and attempt at halfness, or good for me that is not good for him, 
my neighbor feels the wrong; he shrinks from- me as far as I 
have shrunk from him; his eyes no longer seek mine; there is 
war between us ; there is hate in him and fear in me. 

16. All the old abuses in society, universal and particular, all 190 
unjust accumulations of property and power, are avenged in 
the same manner. Fear is an instructor of great sagacity, and 
the herald of all revolutions. One thing he teaches, that there is 
rottenness where he appears. He is a carrion crow; and though 
you see not well what he hovers for, there is death somewhere. 195 
Our property is timid, our laws are timid, our cultivated classes 
are timid. Fear for ages has boded and mowed and gibbered 
over government and property. That obscene * bird is not there 
for nothing. He indicates great wrongs which must be revised. 



Literary Analysis. — 173. shuts the door. Show how the etymological 
signification oi exchcsionist is carried out in the expression "shuts the door." 

175. as paiTOS .ind iiiiie-pins. Change into plain language. 

176. leave out their heart. What is the figure of speech? 

178. vulgar. Etymology ? In what sense is the word used here ? 
183-185. We . . . nature. Point out the similes. 

191, 192. in the same manner. In what manner ? 

192, 193. Fear . . . revolutions. Point out the personification ; the metaphor. 
Change the metaphor into plain terms. 

194. is a carrion-crow. What is the figure of speech ? 

196-198. Fear . . . property. What is the figure of speech ? — Point out vivid- 
ly used words, and explain them. 

198. That obscene bird. Meaning what .^ — Etymology of " obscene .'" 



COMPENSA TION. 



449 



17. Of the like nature is tliat expectation of cliange which in- 200 
stantly follows the suspension of our voluntary activity. The ter- 
ror of cloudless noon, the emerald of Polycrates, the awe of pros- 
perity, the instinct which leads every generous soul to impose 
on itself tasks of a noble asceticism and vicarious* virtue, are 
the tremblings of the balance of justice through the heart and 205 
mind of man. 

18. Experienced men of the world know very well that it is best 
to pay scot and lot as they go along, and that a man often pays 
dear for a small frugality. The borrower runs in his own debt. 
Has a man gained anything who has received a hundred favors 210 
and rendered none ? Has he gained by borrowing, through in- 
dolence or cunning, his neighbor's wares, or horses, or money ? 
There arises on the deed the instant acknowledgment of benefit 
on the one part, and of debt on the other ; that is, of superiority 
and inferiority. The transaction remains in the memory of him- 215 
self and his neighbor ; and every new transaction alters, according 

to its nature, their relation to each other. He may soon come to 
see that he had better have broken his own bones than to have 



Notes. — Line 202. the emerald of Po- 
lycrates. The story of Polyc'- 
rates, despot of Samos, is told 
by Herodotus. Having been 
fortunate in all his undertakings, 
he formed an alliance with Ama- 
sis, King of Egypt, who, how- 
e ver,finally renounced it through 
alarm at the amazing good-for- 
tune of Polycrates. In a letter 
which Amasis wrote to Polyc- 
rates, the Egyptian monarch ad- 
vised him to throw away one of 
his most valuable possessions, 
in order that he might thus in- 
flict some injury on himself 



In accordance with this advice, 
Polycrates threw into the sea a 
seal-ring of extraordinary beau- 
ty ; but in a few days it was 
found in the belly of a fish 
which had been presented to 
him by a fisherman. However, 
in the midst of all his prosperi- 
ty he fell by the most ignomini- 
ous fate ; for, falling into the 
hands of his enemy Oroetes, he 
was crucified. 
208. scot and lot, "a customary contri- 
bution laid on subjects accord- 
ing to their ability." — Cow- 
ell. 



Literary Analysis. — 209. The borrower , . . debt. Point out the example 
of the figure oxymoron. (See Def 18, i.) — What do you understand by the 
sentence ? 

210-212. Has . . . money? What is the effect of the use of the interrogative 
form in these two sentences ? 

29 



45° 



EMERSON. 



ridden in his neighbor's coach, and that "the highest price he 
can pay for a thing is to ask for it." 220 

19. A wise man will extend this lesson to all parts of life, and 
know that it is the part of prudence to face every claimant, and 
pay every just demand on your time, your talents, or your heart. 
Always pay; for, first or last, you must pay your entire debt. 
Persons and events may stand for a time between you and jus- 225 
tice, but it is only a postponement. You must pay at last your 
own debt. If you are wise, you will dread a prosperity which only 
loads you with more. Benefit is the end of nature. But for 
every benefit which you receive a tax is levied. He is great who 
confers the most benefits. He is base — and that is the one base 230 
thing in the universe — who receives favors and renders none. 
In the order of nature, we cannot render benefits to those from 
whom we receive them, or only seldom. But the benefit we re- 
ceive must be rendered again, line for line, deed for deed, cent 
for cent, to somebody. Beware of too much good staying in 235 
your hand. It will fast corrupt and worm worms. Pay it away 
quickly in some sort. . . . 

20. On the other hand, the law holds with equal sureness for 
all right action. Love, and you shall be loved. All love is 
mathematically just, as much as the two sides of an algebraic 240 
equation. The good man has absolute good, which, like fire, turns 
everything to its own nature, so that you cannot do him any harm ; 
but as the royal armies sent against Napoleon, when he approach- 
ed, cast down their colors and from enemies became friends, so 
disasters of all kinds, as sickness, offence, poverty, prove bene- 245 

factors : 

" Winds blow and waters roll 
Strength to the brave, and power and deity, 
Yet in themselves are nothing." 

The good are befriended even by weakness and defect. As no 250 
man had ever a point of pride that was not injurious to him, so 
no man had ever a defect that was not somewhere made useful 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 236. worm worms. Explain this idiomatic expres- 
sion. 

250-256. As . . . him. Point out the contrasted terms of the antithesis. — Show 
the application of the illustration. 



CO MP ENS A TION. 



451 



to him. The stag in the fable admired his horns and blamed his 
feet; but when the hunter came, his feet saved him, and after- 
wards, caught in a thicket, his horns destroyed him. Every man 255 
in his lifetime needs to thank his faults. As no man thoroughly 
understands a truth until he has contended against it, so no man 
has a thorough acquaintance with the hindrances or talents of 
men until he has suffered from the one and seen the triumph of 
the other over his own want of the same. Has he a defect of 260 
temper that unfits him to live in society ? Thereby he is driven 
to entertain himself alone, and acquire habits of self-help ; and 
thus, like the wounded oyster, he mends his shell with pearl. . . . 
21. The history of persecution is a history of endeavors to 
cheat nature, to make water run up hill, to twist a rope of sand. 265 
It makes no difference whether the actors be many or one, a ty- 
rant or a mob. A mob is a society of bodies voluntarily bereaving 
themselves of reason, and traversing its work. The mob is man 
voluntarily descending to the nature of the beast. Its fit hour 
of activity is night. Its actions are insane, like its whole consti- 270 
tution. It persecutes a principle; it would whip a right; it would 
tar and feather justice by inflicting fire and outrage upon the 
houses and persons of those who have these. It resembles the 
prank of boys who run with fire-engines to put out the ruddy 
aurora streaming to the stars. The inviolate spirit turns their 275 
spite against the wrong-doers. The martyr cannot be dishonored. 
Every lash inflicted is a tongue of fame ; every prison a more il- 
lustrious abode ; every burned book or house enlightens the 
world; every suppressed or expunged word reverberates through 
the earth from side to side. Hours of sanity and consideration 280 
are always arriving to communities, as to individuals, when the 
truth is seen, and the martyrs are justified. . . . 
\ 22. We cannot part with our friends. We cannot let our an- 
gels go. We do not see that they only go out that archangels 
may come in. We are idolaters of the old. We do not believe 285 



Literary Analysis. — 263. like . . . pearl. The pupil cannot fail to note 
this exceedingly fine image. It illustrates the highest use of metaphor, as at 
once ornament and argument. 

264-282. The history ... justified. In paragraph 21 point out striking 
thoughts ; felicitous words, phrases, or images. 



452 



EMERSON. 



in the riches of the soul, in its proper eternity and omnipresence. 
We do not believe there is any force in to-day to rival or recreate 
that beautiful yesterday. We linger in the ruins of the old tent, 
where once we had bread and shelter and organs, nor believe that 
the spirit can feed, cover, and nerve us again. We cannot again 290 
find aught so dear, so sweet, so graceful. But we sit and weep 
in vain. The voice of the Almighty saith, " Up and onward for 
evermore !" We cannot stay amid the ruins. Neither will we 
rely on the new ; and so we walk ever with reverted eyes, like 
those monsters who look backwards. 29s 

23. And yet the compensations of calamity are made apparent 
to the understanding also, after long intervals of time. A fever, 
a mutilation, a cruel disappointment, a loss of wealth, a loss of 
friends, seems at the moment unpaid loss,- and vmpayable. But 
the sure years reveal the deep remedial force that underlies all 3°° 
facts. The death of a dear friend — Avife, brother, lover — which 
seemed nothing but privation, somewhat later assumes the aspect 
of a guide or genius ; for it commonly operates revolutions in our 
way of life, terminates an epoch of infancy or of youth which was 
waiting to be closed, breaks up a wonted occupation, or a house- 305 
hold, or style of living, and allows the formation of new ones 
more friendly to the growth of character. It permits or con- 
strains the formation of new acquaintances, and the reception of 
new influences that prove of the first importance to the next 
years; and the man or woman who would have remained a sun- 310 
ny garden-flower, with no room for its roots and too much sun- 
shine for its head, by the falling of the walls and the neglect of 
the gardener is made the banyan of the forest, yielding shade 
and fruit to wide neighborhoods of men. 



Literary Analysis. — 286. its proper eternity : that is, its oiun eternity, the 
eternity which is its property. 

296-314. And . . . men. Express in your own words the lofty thought in 
paragraph 23. Give the class, grammatically and rhetorically, to which each 
sentence belongs. Name the last figure of speech, and note with what a fine 
swell the sentence closes. 



THE PROBLEM. 453 



II.— THE PROBLEM. 



I like a church, I Hke a cowl, 

I love a prophet of the soul. 

And on my heart monastic aisles 

Fall like sweet strains on pensive smiles, 

Yet not for all his faith can see 

Would I that cowled churchman be. 

Why should the vest on him allure. 

Which I could not on me endure .-' 

Not from a vain or shallow thought 

His awful Jove young Phidias brought ; 

Never from lips of cunning fell 

The thrilling Delphic oracle ; 

Out from the heart of nature rolled 

The burdens of the Bibles old; 

The litanies of nations came, 

Like the volcano's tongue of flame. 

Up from the burning cove below, — 

The canticles of love and woe. 

The hand that rounded Peter's dome 

And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, 

Wrought in a sad sincerity, 

Himself from God he could not free ; 

He builded better than he knew. 

The conscious stone to beauty grew. 

Know'st thou what wove yon wood-bird's nest 
Of leaves and feathers from her breast ; 
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, 
Painting with morn each annual cell ; 
Or how the sacred pine-tree adds 
To her old leaves new myriads ? 
Such and so grew these holy piles 
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. 
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon 
As the best gem upon her zone ; 
And morning opes with haste her lids 
To gaze upon the Pyramids ; 



454 



EMERSON. 

O'er England's abbeys bends the sky 
As on its friends with kindred eye ; 
For, out of Thought's interior sphere. 
These wonders rose to upper air ; 
And nature gladly gave them place, 
Adopted them into her race, 
And granted them an equal date 
With Andes and with Ararat. 

These temples grew as grows the grass. 

Art might obey but not surpass. 

The passive Master lent his hand, 

To the vast Soul that o'er him planned, 

And the same power that reared the shrine 

Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. 

Ever the fiery Pentecost 

Girds with one flame the countless host, 

Trances the heart through chanting quires, 

And through the priest the mind inspires. 

The word unto the prophet spoken 
Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; 
The word by seers or sibyls told 
In groves of oak or fanes of gold 
Still floats upon the morning wind, 
Still whispers to the willing mind. 
One accent of the Holy Ghost 
The heedless world hath never lost. 
I know what say the Fathers wise, — 
The book itself before me lies, — 
Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, 
And he who blent both in his line. 
The younger Goldeti Lips ' or mines, 
Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines ; 
His words are music in my ear, 
I see his cowled portrait dear. 
And yet, for all his faith could see, 
I would not the good bishop be. 

' C/irysoslom means in Gretk golden mouth. 



XXXI. 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

1 804- 1 864. 



^-J&tm^^^s^=Si^ 




ij^^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY GEORGE B. SMITH.' 

I. The growth of the modern novel has been marked by many 
changes and developments, but it may be said that its psycholog- 
ical interest was first exhibited in a very high degree by Haw- 

' From Poets and Moralists, by George B. Smith. 



4^6 HAWTHORNE. 

thorne. His deep study of the soul had scarcely been equalled 
before by writers of fiction. His stories do not, of course, dis- 
play all the gifts which we witness in profusion in such men as 
Fielding and Scott ; but in their deep concentration of thought 
upon the motives and the spirit of man, they stand almost 
alone. 

2. Compared with the writers of his own country, there is no 
difficulty in assigning his proper position as a novelist to this il- 
lustrious writer. He has no equal. It is rare to meet with his 
artistic qualities anywhere ; it is rarer still to find them united 
to the earnestness which so distinguished him. Whether as the 
result of an inheritance of the old Puritan blood or not matters 
little, but in him there was apparently a sincerity truly refresh- 
ing among so many writers whose gifts have been vitiated by 
the lack thereof. Admirably did Russell Lowell depict him 
when he wrote the following lines in his' Fable for Critics : 

" There is Hawthorne, with genius so shrinking and rare 
That you hardly at first see the strength that is there ; 
A frame so robust, with a nature so sweet, 
So earnest, so graceful, so solid, so fleet, 
Is worth a descent from Ol3'mpus to meet : 
'Tis as if a rough oak that for ages had stood, 
With his gnarled bony branches like ribs of the wood, 
Should bloom, after cycles of struggle and scathe, 
With a single anemone trembly and rathe. 
His strength is so tender, his wildness so meek. 
That a suitable parallel sets one to seek. 
He's a John Bunyan Fouque, a Puritan Tieck : 
When Nature was shaping him, clay was not granted 
For making so full-sized a man as she wanted. 
So, to fill out her model, a little she spared 
From some finer-grained stuff for a woman prepared. 
And she could not have hit a more excellent plan 
For making him fully and perfectly man." 

3. That Hawthorne will ever be what we call a very popular 
novelist is open to much doubt. The habits of abstraction to 
which he was accustomed from his boyhood had their influence 
upon his thought, which is not always expressed in a manner 
adapted to the average reader. At times he appears to be liv- 
ing away from the world altogether ; and society likes now what 
is concrete, something which it can handle and appraise, whether 



SMITH'S CHARACTERIZATION OF HAWTHORNE. 457 

in literature, science, or art. He liad a shrinking from tlie lion- 
izing which is done on trust, that unpleasant phase which has 
crept over society during the last few years. The principle of 
giving the highest praise to the man who can play the loudest 
on the big drum was a hateful one to him. A silent rebuke to 
the fussiness of the nineteenth century, and to its fulsome adu- 
lation of what is unworthy, may be traced in his pages. This 
man had a strong and fearless spirit, and though he discussed 
questions occasionally which have been found too high for 
settlement in all ages, he did so with humility and on reverent 
knee. 

4. Hawthorne had unquestionably, moreover, a strong poetic 
element in his nature, sublimated by constant contact with the 
various forms of sorrow. Through worldly loss he came to an 
insight into spiritual truths to which he might otherwise have 
been a stranger. At times he appears almost to distrust men, 
but it is never really so ; he laments man's indecision for the 
right, the evil growths which enwrap his soul, and that dark veil 
of sin which hides from him the smiling face of his Creator. 
" Poet let us call him," with Longfellow; but greater still, an in- 
terpreter, through whose allegories and awe-inspiring creations 
breathes the soul that longs after the accomplishment of the 
dream of unnumbered centuries, the brotherhood of man. The 
world has been enriched by his genius, which is as a flower whose 
fragrance is shed upon man, but whose roots rest with God. 



45 8 ^lA WTHORNE. 

FROM THE SCARLET LETTER. 

[Introduction. — The selections here given form the first two chapters of 
Hawthorne's unique romance of the Scarlet Letter. Says Mr. H. T. Tucker- 
man : " In truth to costume, local manners, and scenic features, the Sca^'let Let- 
ter is as reliable as the best of Scott's novels ; in the anatomy of human pas- 
sion and consciousness it resembles the most effective of Balzac's illustrations 
of Parisian or provincial life ; while in developing bravely and justly the sen- 
timent of the life it depicts, it is as true to humanity as Dickens."] 

I.— THE PRISON-DOOR. 

1. A throng of bearded men, in sad -colored garments, and 
gray steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing 
hoods, and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wood- 
en edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak and 
studded with iron spikes. 5 

2. The founders of a new colony, whatever Utopia* of human 
virtue and happiness they might originally project, have invari- 
ably recognized it among their earliest practical necessities to 
allot a portion of the virgin soil as a cemetery, and another por- 
tion as the site of a prison. In accordance with this rule, it may 10 
safely be assumed that the forefathers of Boston had built the 
first prison-house, somewhere in the vicinity of Cornhill, almost 
as seasonably as they marked out the first burial-ground on 
Isaac Johnson's lot, and round about his grave, which subse- 
quently became the nucleus of all the congregated sepulchres in 15 
the old church-yard of King's Chapel. Certain it is that, some 
fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town, the wood- 
en jail was already marked with weather-stains and other indica- 
tions of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to its beetle-browed 
and gloomy front. The rust on the ponderous iron-work of its 20 
oaken door looked more antique than anything else in the New 
World. Like all that pertains to crime, it seemed never to have 



Literary Analysis. — 1-5. a throng . . . spikes. Analyze this sentence. 
6. Utopia. Etymology ? 

8. it. What is the logical subject represented by the anticipative subject 
"it.'"' 

i6. Certain it is. Remark on the order of words. 
19- beetle-browed. Literal or figurative? 



FROM THE SCARLET LETTER. 459 

known a youthful era. Before this ugly edifice, and between it 
and the wheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much over- 
grown with burdock, pigweed, apple -peru, and such unsightly 25 
vegetation, which evidently found something congenial in the 
soil that had so early borne the black flower of civilized society, a 
prison. But on one side of the portal, and rooted almost at the 
threshold, was a wild rose-bush, covered, in this month of June, 
with its delicate gems, which might be imagined to offer their 3° 
fragrance and fragile beauty to the prisoner as he went in, and 
to the condemned criminal as he came forth to his doom, in token 
that the deep heart of Nature could pity and be kind to him. 

3. This rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in 
history; but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old 35 
wilderness, so long after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks 
that originally overshadowed it, or whether, as there is fair au- 
thority for believing, it had sprung up under the footsteps of the 
sainted Ann Hutchinsoii as she entered the prison-door, we shall 
not take upon us to determine. Finding it so directly on the 40 
threshold of our narrative, which is now about to issue from that 
inauspicious portal, we could hardly do otherwise than pluck one 
of its flowers and present it to the reader. It may serve, let us 
hope, to symbolize some sweet moral blossom that may be found 
along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human 45 
frailty and sorrow. 

II.— THE MARKET-PLACE. 

I. The grass-plot before the jail, in Prison Lane, on a certain 
summer morning, not less than two centuries ago, was occupied 
by a pretty large number of the inhabitants of Boston, all with 
their eyes intently fastened on the iron -clamped oaken door. 50 
Among any other population, or at a later period in the history 
of New England, the grim rigidity that petrified* the bearded 
physiognomies of these good people would have augured* some 
awful business in hand. It could have betokened nothing short of 

Literary Analysis. — 23. known . . . era. What is the figure of speech ? 
23-28. Before . . . prison. What is the structure — periodic or loose? — 
Point out a strildng metaphor in this sentence. 
42. inauspiciou!! portal. Explain. 

52. petrified. What is the figure.? — Etymology.' 

53, 54. aug-ured . . .. betolieued. Discriminate between these synonyms. 



460 HA WTHORNE. 

the anticipated execution of some noted culprit on whom the sen- ss 
tence of a legal tribunal had but confirmed the verdict of public 
sentiment. But, in that early severity of the Puritan character, 
an inference of this kind could not so indubitably be drawn. It 
might be that a sluggish bond -servant, or an undutiful child 
whom his parents had given over to the civil authority, was to be 60 
corrected at the whipping-post. It might be that an Antinomian, 
a Quaker, or other heterodox religionist was to be scourged out 
of the town, or an idle and vagrant Indian, whom the white man's 
fire-water had made riotous about the streets, was to be driven 
with stripes into the shadow of the forest. It might be, too, that 65 
a witch, like old Mistress Hibbins, the bitter-tempered widow of 
the magistrate, was to die upon the gallows. In either case, 
there was ver}^ much the same solemnity of demeanor on the 
part of the spectators ; as befitted a people among whom relig- 
ion and law were almost identical, and in whose character both 70 
were so thoroughly interfused that the mildest and the severest 
acts of public discipline were alike made venerable and awful. 
Meagre, indeed, and cold, was the sympathy that a transgressor 
might look for, from such bystanders, at the scaffold. On the 
other hand, a penalty which in our daj^s would infer a degree of 75 
mocking infamy and ridicule might then be invested with almost 
as stern a dignity as the punishment of death itself. 

2. It was a circumstance to be noted, on the summer morning 
when our story begins its course, that the women, of whom there 
were several in the crowd, appeared to take a peculiar interest in 80 
whatever penal infliction might be expected to ensue. The age 
had not so much refinement that any sense of impropriety re- 
strained the wearers of petticoat and farthingale from stepping 
forth into the public ways, and wedging their not unsubstantial 
persons, if occasion were, into the throng nearest to the scaffold 85 
at an execution. Morally as well as materially, there was a 
coarser fibre in those wives and maidens of old English birth 
and breeding than in their fair descendants, separated from 



Literary Analysis. — 61-67. It ... gallons. What inferences may be 
drawn from this passage as to the penal laws of the Puritans ? 
67. either. Query as to this word. 
73, 74. Meagre . . . scaffold. Arrange in the direct order. 
87. coarser fibre. Explain. 



FROM THE SCARLET LETTER. 461 

them by a series of six or seven generations ; for, throughout 
that chain of ancestry, every successive mother has transmitted 90 
to her child a fainter bloom, a more delicate and briefer beauty, 
and a slighter physical frame, if not a character of less force and 
solidity, than her own. The women who were now standing 
about the prison-door stood within less than half a century of 
the period when the man-like Elizabeth had been the not alto- 9s 
gether unsuitable representative of the sex. They were her 
countrywomen ; and the beef and ale of their native land, with 
a moral diet not a wit more refined, entered largely into their 
composition. The bright morning sun, therefore, shone on 
broad shoulders and well-developed busts, and on round and 100 
ruddy cheeks, that had ripened in the far-off island, and had 
hardly yet grown paler or thinner in the atmosphere of New 
England. There was, moreover, a boldness and rotundity of 
speech among these matrons, as most of them seemed to be, 
that would startle us at the present day, whether in respect to 105 
its purport or its volume of tone. 

3. "Goodwives," said a hard-featured dame of fifty, " I'll tell ye 
a piece of my mind. It would be greatly for the public behoof 
if we women, being of mature age and church-members in good 
repute, should have the handling of such malefactresses as this no 
Hester Prynne. What think ye, gossips ?* If the hussy* stood 
up for judgment before us five, that are now here in a knot to- 
gether, would she come off with such a sentence as the worship- 
ful magistrates have awarded ? Marry, I trow not !" 

4. " People say," said another, " that the Reverend Master 115 
Dimmesdale, her godly pastor, takes it very grievously to heart 
that such a scandal should have come upon his congregation." 



Literary Analysis. — 95, 96. not altogether unsuitable, etc. What is the 
figure of speech ? (See Def. 31.) 

97. the beef and ale, etc. For what generic term are these words used ? 

100. broad shoulders, etc. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 28.) 

loi. ripened. What is the figure of speech? 

103, 104. rotundity of speech. By what other expression in this sentence is 
this idea conveyed ? 

107-114. Goodwives . . . not! Point out antique words and constructions. — 
Etymology of " gossips ?" Of " hussy ?" 

115. Master. Remark on this use of the word. 



462 HA WTHORNE. 

5. " The magistrates are God-fearing gentlemen, but merciful 
overmuch — that is a truth," added a third autumnal matron. 

" At the very least, they should have put the brand of a hot iron 120 
on Hester Prynne's forehead. Madam Hester would have 
winced at that, I warrant me. But she — the naughty baggage 
— little will she care what they put upon the bodice of her 
gown ! Why, look you, she may cover it with a brooch, or such 
like heathenish adornment, and so walk the streets as brave as 125 
ever !" 

6. " Ah, but," interposed, more softly, a young wife holding a 
child by the hand, " let her cover the mark as she will, the pang 
of it will be always in her heart." 

7. " What do we talk of marks and brands, whether on the 13° 
bodice of her gown or the flesh of her forehead ?" cried another 
female, the ugliest as well as the most pitiless of these self-con- 
stituted judges. " This woman has brought shame upon us all, 
and ought to die. Is there not law for it ? Truly there is, both 

in the Scripture and the statute-book. Then let the magistrates, 135 
who have made it of no effect, thank themselves if their own 
wives and daughters go astray!" 

8. " Mercy on us, goodwife," exclaimed a man in the crowd, " is 
there no virtue in woman save what springs from a wholesome 
fear of the gallows ? That is the hardest word yet ! Hush, now, 140 
gossips! for the lock is turning in the prison -door, and here 
comes Mistress Prynne herself." 

g. The door of the jail being flung open from within, there ap- 
peared in the first place, like a black shadow emerging into sun- 
shine, the grim and grisly presence of the town-beadle, with a 145 
sword by his side, and his staff of office in his hand. This per- 
sonage prefigured and represented in his aspect the whole dis- 
mal severity of the Puritanic code of law, which it was his busi- 
ness to administer in its final and closest application to the of- 
fender. Stretching forth the official staff in his left hand, he 150 
laid his right upon the shoulder of a young woman, whom 
he thus drew forward, until, on the threshold of the prison- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 119. antumnnl matron. Explain the epithet. 
143-14&. The door . . . hand. What kind of sentence rhetorically.? 
144. like a black, etc. What is the figure of speech .? 



FROM THE SCARLET LETTER. 463 

door, she repelled him by an action marked with natural digni- 
ty and force of character, and stepped into the open air as if 
by her own free-will. She bore in her arms a child, a baby of 15s 
some three months old, who winked and turned aside its little 
face from the too vivid light of day ; because its existence, here- 
tofore, had brought it acquainted only with the gray twilight of a 
dungeon or other darksome apartment of the prison. 

10. When the young woman — the mother of this child — stood 160 
fully revealed before the crowd, it seemed to be her first impulse 

to clasp the infant closely to her bosom ; not so much by an im- 
pulse of motherly affection as that she might thereby conceal a 
certain token which was wrought or fastened into her dress. In 
a moment, however, wisely judging that one token of her shame 165 
would but poorly serve to hide another, she took the baby on ■ 
her arm, and, with a burning blush, and yet a haughty smile, and 
a glance that would not be abashed, looked around at her towns- 
people and neighbors. On the breast of her gown, in fine red 
cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroidery and fantastic 17° 
floui-ishes of gold thread, appeared the letter A. It was so artis- 
tically done, and with so much fertility and gorgeous luxuriance 
of fancy, that it had all the effect of a last and fitting decoration 
to the apparel which she wore, and which was of a splendor in 
accordance with the taste of the age, but greatly beyond what 17s 
was allowed by the sumptuary regulations of the colony. 

11. The young woman was tall, with a figure of perfect elegance 
on a large scale. She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy 
that it threw off the sunshine with a gleam, and a face which, be- 
sides being beautiful from regularity of feature and richness of 180 
complexion, had the impressiveness belonging to a marked brow 
and deep-black eyes. She was lady-like, too, after the manner 
of the feminine gentility of those days ; characterized by a cer- 
tain state and dignity rather than by the delicate, evanescent, 
and indescribable grace which is now recognized as its indica- 185 
tion. And never had Hester Prynne appeared more lady-like, 

in the antique interpretation of the term, than as she issued from 
the prison. Those who had before known her, and had expected 



Literary Analysis. — 176. sumptuary regulations. Explain. 
178. on a largo scale. Adjunct to what word ? 



464 HA WTHORNE. 

to behold her dniimed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, were 
astonished, and even startled, to perceive how her beauty shone 190 
out, and made a halo of the misfortune and ignominy in which 
she was enveloped. It may be true that, to a sensitive observer, 
there was something exquisitely painful in it. Her attire, which, 
indeed, she had- wrought for the occasion in prison, and had 
modelled much after her own fancy, seemed to express the atti- 195 
tude of her spirit, the desperate recklesTsness of her mood, by its 
wild and picturesque peculiarity. But the point which drew all 
eyes, and, as it were, transfigured the wearer, so that both men 
and women who had been familiarly acquainted with Hester 
Prynne were now impressed as if they beheld her for the first 200 
time, was that Scarlet Letter so fantastically embroidered 
and illuminated upon her bosom. It had the effect of a spell,* 
taking her out of the ordinary relations with humanity and en- 
closing her in a sphere by herself. 

12. "She hath good skill at her needle, that's certain," re- 205 
marked one of her female spectators ; " but did ever a woman, 
before this brazen hussy, contrive such a way of showing it ! 
Why, gossips, what is it but to laugh in the faces of our godly 
magistrates, and make a pride out of what they, worthy gen- 
tlemen, meant for a punishment?" 210 

13. " It were well," muttered the most iron-visaged of the old 
dames, " if we stripped Madam Hester's rich gown off her dain- 
ty shoulders ; and as for the red letter, which she hath stitched 
so curiously, I'll bestow a rag of mine own rheumatic flannel to 
make a fitter one !" 215 

14. "Oh, peace, neighbors, peace !" whispered their youngest 
companion ; " do not let her hear you ! Not a stitch in that 
embroidered letter but she has felt it in her heart." 

15. The grim beadle now made a gesture with a staff. 

" Make way, good people, make way, in the king's name !" 220 



LriERARY Analysis. — 189. dinimed and obscured, etc. What is the figure 
of speech ? — What expression finely contrasts with this phrase ? 

196, 197. by its . . . peculiarity. Improve the sentence by placing this phrase 
nearer the word it modifies. 

202. spell. Etymology ? 

214. curiously. Remark on this use of the word. 

217, 218. Not a stitch . . . heart. What is the figure of speech ? 



FROM THE SCARLET LETTER. 



465 



cried he. " Open a passage ; and, I promise ye, Mistress Prynne 
shall be set where man, woman, and child may have a fair sight 
of her brave apparel, from this time till an hour past meridian. 
A blessing on the righteous Colony of the Massachusetts, where 
iniquity is dragged out into the sunshine ! Come along. Madam 225 
Hester, and show your scarlet letter in the market-place !" 

16. A lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of specta- 
tors. Preceded by the beadle, and attended by an irregular pro- 
cession of stern-browed men and unkindly visaged women, Hester 
Prynne set forth towards the place appointed for her punishment. 230 
A crowd of eager and curious schoolboys, understanding little of 
the matter in hand, except that it gave them a half-holiday, ran 
before her progress, turning their heads continually to stare into 
her face, and at the winking baby in her arms, and at the igno- 
minious letter on her breast. It was no great distance, in those 235 
days, from the prison-door to the market-place. Measured by 
the prisoner's experience, however, it might be reckoned a jour- 
ney of some length ; for, haughty as her demeanor was, she per- 
chance underwent an agony from every footstep of those that 
thronged to see her, as if her heart had been flung into the 240 
street for them all to spurn and trample upon. In our nature, 
however, there is a provision, alike marvellous and merciful, that 
the sufferer should never know the intensity of what he endures 
by its present torture, but chiefly by the pang that rankles after 

it. With almost a serene deportment, therefore, Hester Prynne 245 
passed through this portion of her ordeal, and came to a sort of 
scaffold, at the western extremity of the market-place. It stood 
nearly beneath the eaves of Boston's earliest church, and ap- 
peared to be a fixture there. 

17. In fact, this scaffold constituted a portion of a penal ma- 250 
chine,which now, for two or three generations past, has been mere- 
ly historical and traditionary among us, but was held in the old 
time to be as effectual an agent in the promotion of good citi- 
zenship as ever was the guillotine among the Terrorists of France. 



Literary Analysis. — 223. brare. In what sense is the word here used? 
227-249. In this paragraph point out examples of vigorous or felicitous use 
of language. 

254. guillotine. History of this word ? (See p. 428.) 

30 



4-66 HA WTHORNE. 

It was, in short, the platform of the pillory ; and above it rose 255 
the framework of that instrmnent of discipline, so fashioned as 
to confine the hmnan head in its tight grasp, and thus hold it up 
to the public gaze. The very ideal of ignominy was embodied 
and made manifest in this contrivance of wood and iron. There 
can be no outrage, methinks, against our common nature, what- 260 
ever be the delinquencies of the individual — no outrage more 
flagrant than to forbid the culprit to hide his face for shame, 
as it was the essence of this punishment to do. In Hester 
Prynne's instance, however, as not unfrequently in other cases, 
her sentence bore that she should stand a certain time upon the 265 
platform, but witliout undergoing that gripe about the neck and 
confinement of the head the proneness to which was the most 
devilish characteristic of this ugly engine. Knowing well her 
part, she ascended a flight of wooden steps, and was thus dis- 
played to the surrounding multitude, at about the height of a 270 
man's shoulders above the street. 

18. Had there been a Papist among the crowd of Puritans, he 
might have seen in this beautiful woman, so picturesque in her 
attire and mien, and with the infant at her bosom, an object to 
remind him of the image of Divine Maternity, which so many il- 275 
lustrious painters have vied with one another to represent ; some- 
thing which should remind him, indeed, but only by contrast, of 
that sacred image of sinless motherhood whose infant was to re- 
deem the world. Here there was the taint of deepest sin in the 
most sacred quality of human life, working such effect that the 2S0 
world was only the darker for this woman's beauty, ^and the more 
lost for the infant that she had borne. 

19. The scene was not without a mixture of awe, such as must 
always invest the spectacle of guilt and shame in a fellow-creature 
before society shall have grown corrupt enough to smile, instead 285 
of shuddering, at it. The witnesses of Hester Prynne's disgrace 
had not yet passed beyond their simplicity. They were stern 



Literary Analysis. — 255. pillory. By what periphrases does the author 
afterwards indicate the pillory? 

260. iiietliiuks. What is the subject? 

272-279. Had . . . world. What kind of sentence rhetorically ? 

275. Maternity. What Anglo-Sa.xon synonym of this Latin term is used in 
this sentence ? 



FROM THE SCARLET LETTER. 



467 



enough to look upon her death, had that been the sentence, with- 
out a murmur at its severity, but had none of the heartlessness 
of another social state, which would find only a theme for jest in 290 
an exhibition like the present. Even had there been a disposi- 
tion to turn the matter into ridicule, it must have been repressed 
and overpowered by the solemn presence of men no less digni- 
fied than the Governor, and several of his counsellors, a judge, 
a general, and the ministers of the town ; all of whom sat or 295 
stood in the balcony of the meeting-house, looking down upon 
the platform. When such personages could constitute a part of 
the spectacle without risking the .majesty or reverence of rank 
and office, it was safely to be inferred that the infliction of a 
legal sentence would have an earnest and effectual meaning. 300 
Accordingly, the crowd was sombre and grave. The unhappy 
culprit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the heavy 
weight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her, 
and concentrated at her bosom. It was almost intolerable to be 
borne. Of an impulsive and passionate nature, she had fortified 30s 
herself to encounter the stings and venomous stabs of public 
contumely, wreaking itself in every variety of insult ; but there 
was a quality so much more terrible in the solemn mood of the 
popular mind that she longed rather to behold all those rigid 
countenances contorted with scornful merriment, and herself the 310 
object. Had a roar of laughter burst from the multitude — each 
man, each woman, each little shrill-voiced child, contributing 
their individual parts — Hester Prynne might have repaid them 
all with a bitter and disdainful smile. But, under the leaden in- 
fliction which it was her doom to endure, she felt, at moments, as 315 
if she must needs shriek out with the full power of her lungs, 
and cast herself from the scaffold down upon the ground, or else 
go mad at once. 

20. Yet there were intervals when the whole scene, in which she 
was the most conspicuous object, seemed to vanish from her 320 



Literary Analysis. — 301. sombre and grave. Discriminate between these 
synonynris. 

304, 305. intolerable to be borne. What violation of precision in this ex- 
pression ? 

313. their. Query as to this word. 

3x4,315. leaden infliction. Explain the epithet. 



468 HA WTHORNE. 

eyes, or, at least, glimmered indistinctly before them, like a mass 
of imperfectly shaped and spectral images. Her mind, and es- 
pecially her memory, was preternaturally active, and kept bring- 
ing up other scenes than this roughly hewn street of a little 
town, on the edge of the Western wilderness ; other faces than 325 
were lowering upon her from beneath the brims of those steeple- 
crowned hats. Reminiscences the most trifling and immaterial, 
passages of infancy and school-days, sports, childish quarrels, 
and the little domestic traits of her maiden years came swarm- 
ing back upon her, intermingled with recollections of whatever 33° 
was gravest in her subsequent life ; one picture precisely as 
vivid as another, as if all were of similar importance, or all 
alike a play. Possibly it was an instinctive device of her spirit, 
to relieve itself, by the exhibition of these phantasmagoric forms, 
from the cruel weight and hardness of the reality. 335 

21. Be that as it might, the scaffold of the pillory was a point of 
view that revealed to Hester Prynne the entire track along which 
she had been treading since her happy infancy. Standing on 
that miserable eminence, she saw again her native village, in old 
England, and her paternal home — a decayed house of gray 340 
stone, with a poverty-stricken aspect, but retaining a half-obliter- 
ated shield of arms over the portal, in token of antique gentility. 
She saw her father's face, with its bald brow, and reverend white 
beard that flowed over the old-fashioned Elizabethan ruff ; her 
mother's, too, with the look of heedful and anxious love which 34s 
it always wore in her remembrance, and which, even since her 
death, had so often laid the impediment of a gentle remonstrance 
in her daughter's pathway. She saw her o-wn face, glowing with 
girlish beauty, and illuminating all the interior of the dusky mir- 
ror in which she had been wont to gaze at it. There she be- 350 
held another countenaiice, of a man well stricken in years, a pale. 



Literary Analysis. — 323. was. Justify the use of the singular verb. 

327-331. Substitute synonyms for the following italicized words : '■^Reminis- 
cences the most trifling and immaterial, passages of infancy and school-days, 
sports, childish quarrels, and the little domestic traits of her maiden years came 
swarming back upon her, intej-mingled with recollections of whatever vf a.s grav- 
est in her subsequent life." 

339. niiseiable eminence. Explain. 

345. heedful and anxious. Discriminate between these synonyms. 



FROM THE SCARLET LETTER. 469 

thin, scholar-like visage, with eyes dim and bleared by the lamp- 
light that had served them to pore over many ponderous books. 
Yet those same bleared optics had a strange, penetrating power, 
when it was their owner's purpose to read the human soul. 355 
This figure of the study and the cloister, as Hester Prynne's 
womanly fancy failed not to recall, was slightly deformed, with 
the left shoulder a trifle higher than the right. Next rose be- 
fore her, in memory's picture-gallery, the intricate and narrow 
thoroughfares, the tall gray houses, the huge cathedrals, and the 360 
public edifices, ancient in date and quaint in architecture, of a 
Continental city, where a new life had awaited her, still in con- 
nection with the misshapen scholar — a new life, but feeding itself 
on time-worn materials, like a tuft of green moss on a crumbling 
wall. Lastly, in lieu of these shifting scenes, came back the rude 365 
market-place of the Puritan settlement, with all the townspeople 
assembled, and levelling their stern regards at Hester Prynne — 
yes, at herself, who stood on the scaffold of the pillory, an in- 
fant on her arm, and the letter A, in scarlet, fantastically em- 
broidered with gold thread upon her bosom ! . 37° 

22. Could it be true ? She clutched the child so fiercely to her 
breast that it sent forth a cry ; she turned her eyes downward at 
the scarlet letter, and even touched it with her finger, to assure 
herself that the infant and the shame were real. Yes ! — these 
were her realities ; all else had vanished ! 37s 



XXXII. 

HENRY W, LONGFELLOW, 

1807. 



#?, 




J^ jX.Vt^'N--^ 



A4y "===^::=><^- 



^ 



/iOO--'av..^^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY GEORGE W. CURTIS. 

I. If we care to explain the eager and affectionate welcome 
which always hails Longfellow's writings, it is easy to see to 
what general quality that greeting must be ascribed. As with 
Walter Scott, or Victor Hugo, or Beranger, or Dickens, or Addi- 



CURTIS'S CHARACTERIZATION OF LONGFELLOW. 



471 



son in the Spectator, or Washington Irving, it is a genial human- 
ity. It is a quality, in all these instances, independent of liter- 
ary art and of genius, but which is made known to others, and 
therefore becomes possible to be recognized, only through liter- 
ary forms. 

2. The creative imagination, the airy fancy, the exquisite 
grace, harmony, and simplicity, the rhetorical brilliancy, the in- 
cisive force, all the intellectual powers and charms of style with 
which that feeling may be expressed, are informed and vitalized 
by the sympathy itself. But whether a man who writes verse has 
genius, whether he be a poet according to arbitrary canons, wheth- 
er some of his lines resemble the lines of other writers, and wheth- 
er he be original, are questions which may be answered in every 
way of every poet in history. Who is a poet but he whom the 
heart of man permanently accepts as a singer of its own hopes, 
emotions, and thoughts ? And what is poetry but that song ? If 
words have a uniform meaning, it is useless to declare that Pope 
cannot be a poet if Lord Byron is, or that Moore is counterfeit 
if Wordsworth be genuine. For the art of poetry is like all 
other arts. The casket that Cellini worked is not less genuine 
and excellent than the dome of Michael Angelo. Is nobody but 
Shakespeare a poet ? Is there no music but Beethoven's ? Is 
there no mountain-peak but Dhawalaghiri ? No cataract but 
Niagara ? 

3. While the magnetism of Longfellow's touch lies in the 
broad humanity of his sympathy, which leads him neither to 
mysticism nor cynicism, and which commends his poetry to the 
universal heart, his artistic sense is so exquisite that each of his 
poems is a valuable literary study. In these he has now reached 
a perfection quite unrivalled among living poets, except, some- 
times by Tennyson. His literary career has been contemporary 
with the sensational school, but he has been entirely vmtainted 
by it. The literary style of an intellectually introverted age or 
author will always be somewhat obscure, however gorgeous ; 
but Longfellow's mind takes a simple, childlike hold of life, and 
his style never betrays the inadequate effort to describe thoughts 
or emotions that are but vaguely perceived, which is the charac- 
teristic of the best sensational writing. Indeed, there is little 
poetry by the eminent contemporary masters which is so ripe 



472 



LONGFELLOW. 



and racy as his. He does not make rhetoric stand for passion, 
nor vagueness for profundity ; nor, on the other Iiand, is he such 
a voluntary and mahcious " Bohemian " as to conceive that ei- 
ther in hfe or letters a man is released from the plain rules of 
morality. Indeed, he used to be accused of preaching in his 
poetry by gentle critics who held that Elysium was to be found 
in an oyster-cellar, and that intemperance was the royal preroga- 
tive of genius. 

4. His literary scholarship, also, his delightful familiarity with 
the pure literature of all languages and times, must rank Longfel- 
low among the learned poets. Yet he wears this various knowl- 
edge like a shining suit of chain-mail to adorn and strengthen 
his gait, like Milton, instead of tripping and clumsily stumbling 
in it, as Ben Jonson sometimes did. He whips out an exqui- 
sitely pointed allusion that flashes like a Damascus rapier, and 
strikes nimbly home ; or he recounts some weird tradition, or 
enriches his line with some gorgeous illustration from hidden 
stores ; or merely unrolls, as Milton loved to do, the vast perspec- 
tive of romantic association by recounting, in measured order, 
names which themselves make music in the mind — names not 
musical only, but fragrant : 

" Sabean odors from the spicy shore 
Of Araby the Blest." 



KE RAMOS. 



473 



KfiRAMOS. 

[Introduction. — The poem of Keramos (Greek khainos, potter's clay, or 
earthenware) is a very effective handling in verse of a subject not seemingly 
very promising — the making of pottery. It belongs to the same class of poems 
as The Building of the Ship, and is, says Mr. R. H. Stoddard, "as perfect a 
piece of poetic art as that exquisite poem."] 

1 . Turn, turn, my wheel ! Turn round and roimd 
Without a pause, without a sound : 

So spins the flying world away ! 
This clay, well 7Jiixed with jnarl and sand, 
Tollozvs the motion of i7iy hand ; 
For some must follow and sof?ie conunand, 

Though all a?-e made of clay ! 

2. Thus sang the Potter at his task 
Beneath the blossoming hawthorn-tree, 
While o'er his features, like a mask, 
The quilted sunshine and leaf shade 
Moved, as the boughs above him swayed. 



Notes. — Line i. my wheel, the potter's 
lathe or "throwing-wheel :" it 
is one of the most ancient ma- 
chines, and was used in Egypt 
4000 years ago. 

4. clay . . . marl. "Clay" is the base 
of the materials for all kinds of 



pottery. " Marl "' enters into 
the composition of various kinds 
of porcelain, such as old Sevres 
china. 
7. all are made of clay. Compare Jer- 
emiah xviii., 6 ; Romans ix., 



Literary Analysis. — 1-7. In the first stanza, who is represented as speak- 
ing or singing ? — It will be noted that the poet's song is eight times interrupted 
by a melodious interlude from the potter. The effect is singularly impressive ; 
for the composition thus assumes the character of a fugue in which, to the 
airy melody in celebration of the potter's art, there responds, ever and anon, a 
deeper strain of world-tones, admonishing us that "all are made of clay." 

I. Turn . . . wheel. What kind of sentence grammatically.? — What figure of 
speech in this sentence? (See Def 36.) — Turn. What are the modifiers of 
this verb ? 

3. So . . . away ! Observe the grand sweep of this line. 

8-17. Thus . . . fire. Change into the prose order. — Is the structure periodic 
or loose ? — In this sentence point out a simile ; a metaphor. — Select the most 
felicitous epithets. 



474 



LONGFELLOW. 

And clothed him, till he seemed to be 
A figure woven in tapestry,* 
So sumptuously was he arrayed 
In that magnificent attire 
Of sable tissue flaked with fire. 
Like a magician* he appeared, 
A conjurer without book or beard ; 
And while he plied his magic art — 
For it was magical to me — 
I stood in silence and apart, 
And wondered more and more to see 
That shapeless, lifeless mass of clay 
Rise up to meet the master's hand, 
And now contract and now expand, 
And even his slightest touch obey; 
While ever in a thoughtful mood 
He sang his ditty,* and at times 
Whistled a tune between the rhymes, 
iVs a melodious interlude. 

3. Turn, turJi, my wheel ! All things must change 
To something new, to something strange : 

Nothing that is can pause or stay : 
The moon will wax,* the 77ioon will wane, 
The mist and cloud will tui-n to rain, 
The rain to mist and cloud again. 

To-morrow be to-day. 

4. Thus still the Potter sang, and still. 
By some unconscious act of will, 
The melody, and even the words. 
Were intermingled with my thought. 



Literary Analysis. — 19. iTithout book or beard. Explain the allusion. 
20. plied his magic art. Change this paraphrasis into plain language. 
27. toucli. Grammatical construction ? — obey. Literal or figurative .■' 
29. ditty. Etymology of the word ? 

32-38. Turn . • . to-day. In this stanza what is the refrain .'' — Point out an 
example of antimetabole. (See Def. 18, ii.) 



KE RAMOS. 



475 



As bits of colored thread are caught 
And woven into nests of birds. 
And thus to regions far remote, 
Beyond the ocean's vast expanse, 
This wizard* in tlie motley coat 
Transported me on wings of song. 
And by the northern shores of France 
Bore me with restless speed along. 

What land is this, that seems to be 

A mingling of the land and sea ? 

This land of sluices, dikes, and dunes ? 

This water-net, that tessellates* 

The landscape ? this unending maze 

Of gardens, through whose latticed gates 

The imprisoned pinks and tulips gaze ; 

Where in long summer afternoons 

The sunshine, softened by the haze, 

Comes streaming down as through a screen ; 

Where over fields and pastures green 

The painted ships float high in air. 

And over all and everywhere 

The sails of windmills sink and soar 

Like wings of sea-eulls on the shore ? 



51. What land is this, etc. From the 
description tire pupil will readi- 
ly conjecture that it is Holland. 

53. dunes. A dune is a low hill of 



sand accumulated on a sea- 
coast. 
54. tessellates, forms into squares or 
checkers. 



Literary Analysis. — 43, 44. As . . . birds. What is the figure of speech? 
(See Def. 19.) 

47. wizard. By what name was the Potter previously called i" — Discriminate 
between "wizard" and "magician," and give the derivation of each word. 

48. on wings of song. What is the figure of speech .? (See Def. 20.) 
51-65. Wliat land . . . shore. Convert these questions into a paraphrased 

description of Holland. — Point out a metaphor ; a simile. — Explain " The 
painted ships float high in air." 



476 



LONGFELLOW. 



6. What land is this ? Yon pretty town 
Is Delft, with all its wares displayed; 
The pride, the market-place, the crown 
And centre of the Potter's trade. 

See ! every house and room is bright 
With glimmers of reflected light 
From plates that on the dresser shine ; 
Flagons to foam with Flemish beer, 
Or sparkle with the Rhenish wine. 
And pilgrim-flasks with fleurs-de-lis, 
And ships upon a rolling sea, 
And tankards pewter-topped, and queer 
With grotesque* mask and musketeer! 
Each hospitable chimney smiles 
A welcome from its painted tiles ; 
The parlor walls, the chamber floors. 
The stairways, and the corridors, 
The borders of the garden walks, 
Are beautiful with fadeless flowers. 
That never droop in winds or showers, 
And never wither on their stalks. 

7. Turn, turn, my wheel ! All life is brief ; 
What now is bud will soon be leaf 



67. Delft. From the name of this 
Hollandish town is derived our 
word delf, a kind of earthen- 
ware. 



73. Fleiiiisli, pertaining to Flanders. 
75. fleurs-de-lis (literally, flowers of the 

lily), the royal insignia of 

F'rance. 



Literary Analysis. — 66. In this line what word belongs to the diction 
of poetry ? 

68, 69. pride . . . market-place . . . crowii . . . centre. What is the grammati- 
cal construction of these words .'' 

73- Flag-ons . . . beer. Supply the ellipsis. — Point out the alliteration. 

78. grotesque. Etymology t 
- 79, 80. Each . . . tiles. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) — Change 
into a simile. 

84, 85. fadeless flowers, Tlisit, etc. Explain. 

87-93. Turn . . . away. Of the fifty-one words in this stanza only four are of 
other than Anglo-Saxon origin : what are these four ? — Point out an example 
of metonymy in this sentence. 



KE RAMOS. 



477 



What now is leaf will soon decay ; 
The wind blows east., the wind blows west ; 
The blue eggs in the robin's nest 
Will soon have zuings and beak and breast., 

And flutter and fly away. 

8. Now southward through the air I glide, 
The song my only pursuivant,* 

And see across the landscape wide 
The blue Charente, upon whose tide 
The belfries and the spires of Saintes 
Ripple and rock from side to side. 
As, when an earthquake rends its walls, 
A crumbling city reels and falls. 

9. Who is it in the suburbs here, 

This Potter, working with such cheer, 
In this mean house, this mean attire, 
His manly features bronzed with fire. 
Whose figulines * and rustic wares 
Scarce find him bread from day to day ? 
This madman, as the people say. 
Who breaks his tables and his chairs 



95. pursuirant, properly, an attendant 
on the heralds. Compare with 
its use in the following lines of 
Longfellow : 

*' The herald Hope forerunning Fear, 
And Fear i^a pursuivant of Hope." 

98. Saiutes, a town of France, on the 
right bank of the river Charente. 
103. Tins Potter: that is, Palissy. See 
below, line 119. 



106. flg'ulines (Fr.), pieces of pottery. 
The word was iirst applied by 
Palissy. In the Life of Palissy 
it is stated that at one period 
he was appointed " maker of 
the king's rustic potteries" {ru- 
stiqjtes figulines). 

108-1 12. This madman . . . dead ? " Re- 
gardless of expense, labor, dis- 
appointment, and hardship, he 



Literary Analysis. — 94-101. Now . . . fiiUs. What kind of sentence gram- 
matically? — What is the construction of "The song my only pursuivant.'"' — 
E.xplain "upon whose tide . . . Ripple and rock," etc. — Point out the simile 
in this sentence. 

106. flguliiies. Etymology .'' 

107. bread. What is the figure of speech .'' (See Def. 28.) 



478 



LONGFELLOW. 



To feed his furnace fires, nor cares 
Who goes unfed if they are fed, 
Nor who may Hve if they are dead ? 
This alchemist * with hollow cheeks. 
And sunken, searching eyes, who seeks, 
By mingled earths and ores combined 
With potency of fire, to find 
Some new enamel hard and bright, 
His dream, his passion, his delight ? 

O Palissy ! within thy breast 
Burned the hot fever of unrest; 
Thine was the prophet's vision, thine 
The exultation, the divine 
Insanity of noble minds, 
That never falters nor abates. 
But labors and endures and waits, 
Till all that it foresees, it finds. 
Or what it cannot find, creates! 



reduced himself and family to 
poverty rather than give up 
his undertaking " — namely, 
that of finding "some new 
enamel hard and bright " (see 
line 117). 
119. Palissy, Bernard, French potter, 
born about 15 10, died in Paris 
in 1590. After sixteen years 
of exertion he succeeded in dis- 
coverino; the art of enamelling 



which had been brought to such 
perfection in Italy, and pro- 
duced earthen figures and orna- 
ments — vases, jugs, ewers, etc. 
— which, in artistic perfection, 
rivalled those of Faenza or Cas- 
tel Durante. He was ignored 
by his contemporaries and died 
in the Bastile ; but modern 
writers have vindicated his title 
to endurina: fame. 



Literary Analysis. — iii. In this line which word is used in its literal, 
and which in a figurative sense? 

1 13. This alcliemist. Supply the ellipsis. — Explain why the poet calls Palissy 
an alchemist. Etymology of " alchemist .'"' 

1 19-127. Palissy . . . creates! Change this sentence into the prose order. 
— Point out noble expressions in this sentence. — What other line of Longfel- 
low's is recalled by the verse "But labors and endures and waits?" 



KE RAMOS. 



479 



Turn, turn, my wheel ! This earthen jar 
A touch can make, a totich can mar ; 

And shall it to the Potter say. 
What makest thou 1 Thou hast no hand? 
As men who think to understand 
A world by their Creator planned. 
Who wiser is than they. 

Still guided by the dreamy song, 

As in a trance I float along 

Above the Pyrenean chain, 

Above the fields and farms of Spain, 

Above the bright Majorcan isle 

That lends its softened name to art, 

A spot, a clot upon the chart, 

Whose little towns, red-roofed with tile, 

Are ruby-lustred with the light 

Of blazing furnaces by night, 

And crowned by day with wreaths of smoke. 

Then eastward wafted in my flight 

On my enchanter's magic cloak. 



139. Majorcan isle: that is, Majorca, 

one of the Balearic Isles, off 
the eastern coast of Spain. 

140. lends its softened name to art. Ma- 

jolica, a word supposed to be 
derived (a " softened name ") 



from Majorca, where Saracen 
pottery was made, is now com- 
inonly used to signify all pot- 
tery of Italian manufacture, en- 
amelled or decorated with color 
(^jdience). 



Literary Analysis. — 129. A touch can make, a touch can mar. What is the 
figure of speech? (See Def 18.) — By what device is the effect of the figure 
heightened ? (See Def. 38.) 

132-134. As men . . . they. Explain this impressive thought. 

135. Still . . . song. What kind of phrase, and what word does it modify? 

137-139. Point out the example of epizeuxis. (See Def 36.) 

141. spot . . . dot. Grammatical construction ? 

142-144. Whose . . . night. What kind of clause, and modifying what ? — 
Point out picturesque expressions in this passage. 

145. And crowned . . . smoke. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 20.) 

147. On . . . cloak. Explain. 



LONGFELLOW. 

I sail across the Tyrrhene Sea 

Into the land of Italy, 

And o'er the windy Apennines, 

Mantled and musical with pines. 

The palaces, the princely halls, 

The doors of houses and the walls 

Of churches and of belfry towers, 

Cloister and castle, street and mart. 

Are garlanded and gay with flowers 

That blossom in the fields .of Art. 

Here Gubbio's workshops gleam and glow 

With brilliant iridescent dyes. 

The dazzling whiteness of the snow. 

The cobalt blue of summer skies ; 

And vase and scutcheon, cup and plate, 

In perfect finish emulate 

Faenza, Florence, Pesaro. 



13. Forth from Urbino's gate there came 
A youth with the angelic name 
Of Raphael, in form and face 
Himself angelic, and divine 
In arts of color and design. 



165 



148. Tyrrlieiie Sea, the classical name 
of that part of the Mediterra- 
nean to the west of Italy. 

158. Gubbio's workshops. Gubbio, a 
town of Italy, the factories of 
which took the lead in the 
manufacture of majolica-ware 
in the i6th century. 



164. Faenza, Florence, Pesaro. Italian 
towns, famous in the 15th and 
i6th centuries for the manufact- 
ure of majolica-ware. 

165-167. Urbino's gate . . . Bapliael. 
Raphael (1483-1522), the illus- 
trious artist, was born in the city 
of Urbino, in Italy. 



Literary Analysis. — 158. Here . . . glow. Point out the alliteration. 

163, 164. emulate Faenza, etc. What is the figure of speech "i (See Def. 
29.) 

165-169. Forth . , . design. Remark on the order of words. — What is the 
allusion in the expression " Himself angelic ?" 



KE RAMOS. 481 

From him Francesco Xanto caught 170 

Something of his transcendent grace, 

And into fictile* fabrics wrought 

Suggestions of the master's thought. 

Nor less Maestro Giorgio shines 

With madre-perl and golden lines 175 

Of arabesques, and interweaves 

His birds and fruits and flowers and leaves 

About some landscape, shaded brown, 

With olive tints on rock and town. 

14. Behold this cup within whose bowl, 180 

Upon a ground of deepest blue 
With yellow-lustred stars o'erlaid, 
Colors of every tint and hue 
Mingle in one harmonious whole 1 

With large blue eyes and steadfast gaze, ^185 

Her yellow hair in net and braid. 
Necklace and ear-rings all ablaze 
With golden lustre o'er the glaze, 
A woman's portrait; on the scroll, 



170. Francesco Xaiito, an Italian maker 
of majolica- 

172. fictile, made by the potter. 

174. Maestro Giorgio, an Italian sculp- 
tor and painter of the i6th cen- 
tury, who devoted himself to the 
manufacture of majolica, and 



rivalled Francesco Xanto in all 
kinds of work. 

175. iiiadre-perl = mother of pearl. 

176. arabesques. An arabesque (from 

Lat. Arabiciis^ Arabian) is a 
species of ornament used for 
enriching flat surfaces. 



Literary Analysis. — 172. fictile. Etymology? 

174. Maestro Giorgio shines, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 
29.) 

180-184. Behold . . . whole! What kind of sentence grammatically .? 

182. yellow-lustred. Explain. 

183. tint and hue. Discriminate between these synonyms. 
189. A ATOiuan's portrait. Supply the ellipsis. 

31 



LONGFELLOW. 

Cana the Beautiful ! A name 
Forgotten save for such brief fame 
As this memorial can bestow — 
A gift some lover long ago 
Gave with his heart to this fair dame. 



15 



A nobler title to renown 
Is thine, O pleasant Tuscan town, 
Seated beside the Arno's stream ; 
For Luca della Robbia there 
Created forms so wondrous fair 
They made thy sovereignty supreme. 
These choristers with lips of stone. 
Whose music is not heard, but seen. 
Still chant, as from their organ-screen. 
Their maker's praise; nor these alone, 
But the more fragile forms of clay. 
Hardly less beautiful than they. 
These saints and angels that adorn 
The walls of hospitals, and tell 
The story of good deeds so well 
That poverty seems less forlorn, 
And life more like a holiday. 



190. Cana the Beautiful! A represen- 
tation of this cup with the in- 
scription Cana Bella forms one 
of the illustrations to this poem 
as it originally appealed in 



Harper's Magazine for Decem- 
ber, 1877. 

196. Tuscan town: that is, Florence. 

198. Luca della Robbia, born in Flor- 
ence about 1400. 



Literary Analysis. — 190. name. Grammatical construction ? 

193. gift. Grammatical construction? 

196, 197. By what periphrasis does the poet describe Florence.'' 

199. ^vondrous. Used by enallage for what form ? 

200. thy sovereignty. Sovereignty in what ? 
202. is not heard, but seen. Explain. 

210, 211. That poverty . . . holiday. Observe these two fine lines. 



KE RAMOS. 



483 



16. Here in this old neglected church, 
That long eludes the traveller's search, 
Lies the dead bishop on his tomb ; 
Earth upon earth he slumbering lies, 
Life-like and death-like in the gloom; 
Garlands of fruit and flowers in bloom 
And foliage deck his resting-place ; 
A shadow in the sightless eyes, 
A pallor on the patient face, 
Made perfect by the furnace heat ; 
All earthly passions and desires 
Burned out by purgatorial fires ; 
Seeming to say, " Our years are fleet, 
And to the weary death is sweet." 



17 



But the most wonderful of all 
The ornaments on tomb or wall 
That grace the fair Ausonian shores 
Are those the faithful earth restores. 
Near some Apulian town concealed, 
In vineyard or in harvest field : 
Vases and urns and bass-reliefs. 
Memorials of forgotten griefs, 
Or records of heroic deeds 
Of demi-gods and mighty chiefs ; 
Figures that almost move and speak, 
And, buried amid mould and weeds, 
Still in their attitudes attest 
The presence of the graceful Greek : 
Achilles in his armor dressed, 



228. Ausouiau shores : that is, Italy. 
230. Apulian, from Apulia in Italy. 
232. bass-reliefs, sculptures whose fit: 



ures do not stand out far from 
the ground or plane on which 
they are formed. 



Literary Analysis. — 212-225. Here ... sweet. Make a paraphrase of 
this passage. — Note the sadly solemn closing lines. 

229. the faithful earth restores. Explain. — Why " the ya?/'///}^/ earth ?" 
240-244. Achilles . . . beautiful ! From what mythology are these illustra- 
tions drawn? — Who was Aphrodite's "boy.?" 



484 L ONGFELLO W. 

Alcides with the Cretan bull, 
And Aphrodite * with her boy, 
Or lovely Helena of Troy, 
Still livino; and still beautiful ! 



18. Turn^ turn, my wheel! 'Tis Nature's pla7i 245 
The child should grow into the 7nan, 

The ma7i grow wrinkled, old, and gray : 
In yoicth the heart exults atid sings, 
The pulses leap, the feet have wings; 
In age the cricket chirps, and brings =5° 

The harvest-home of day. 

19. And now the winds that southward blow. 
And cool the hot Sicilian isle, 

Bear me away. I see below 

The long line of the Libyan Nile, 255 

Flooding and feeding the parched lands 

With annual ebb and overflow : 

A fallen palm whose branches lie 

Beneath the Abyssinian sky, 

Whose roots are in Egyptian sands. 260 

On either bank huge water-wheels, 

Belted with jars and dripping weeds, 

Send forth their -melancholy moans. 

As if, in their gray mantles hid, 

Dead anchorites of the Thebaid 265 

Knelt on the shore and told their beads. 



242. Aphrodite: that is, Venus. I Thebaid \The' ba-id'\ — the The- 

265. anchorites, religious hermits. — I bai's, or Upper Egypt. 



Literary Analysis. — 249. the feet have irings. Change into plain lan- 
guage. 

250, 251. In age . . . day. Explain. 

254. below. What part of speech here ? 

258-260. A fiillen . . . sands. Explain the metaphor. 

261. either. Query as to this use of the word. (See Swinton's New English 
Grammar, p. 155.) 

263. their melancholy moans. To what are these likened? 



KERAMOS. 485 

Beating their breasts with loud appeals 
And penitential tears and groans. 

20. This city, walled and thickly set 

With glittering mosque and minaret, 27° 

Is Cairo, in whose gay bazaars 
The dreaming traveller first inhales 
The perfume of Arabian gales. 
And sees the fabulous earthen jars, 
■ Huge as were those wherein the maid 275 

Morgiana found the Forty Thieves 
Concealed in midnight ambuscade ; 
And, seeing, more than half believes 
The fascinating tales that run 

Through all the Thousand Nights and One,. 280 

Told by the fair Scheherezade. 

21. More strange and wonderful than these 
Are the Egyptian deities — 

Ammon and Emoth, and the grand 

Osiris, holding in his hand 285 

The lotus ; Isis, crowned and veiled ; 

The sacred Ibis, and the Sphinx; 

Bracelets with blue-enamelled links; 

The Scarabee in emerald mailed, 

Or spreading wide his funeral wings ; ,go 

Lamps that perchance their night-watch kept 

O'er Cleopatra while she slept — 

All plundered from the tombs of kings. 



292. Cleopatra (B.C. 69-30), the last queen of Egypt. 



Literary Analysis. — 274. fabulous. Explain the application of the term 
here. 

275-281. Huge . . . Schelierezade. Observe the nice art with which the allu- 
sion to the Arabian A^igJiis' Entertaifiment is introduced. 

283. deities. What words are in apposition with "deities?" 

291. their night-watch kept. Explain. 

292. Cleopatra. What constitutes the felicity of the choice of illustration 
here made .'' 



486 LONGFELLOW. 

22. Turn, turn, my wheel f The human race, 
Of every tongue, of every place, 

Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay, 
All that inhabit this great earth. 
Whatever be their rank or worth. 
Are kindi'ed and allied by birth, 
And made of the same clay. 

23. O'er desert sands, o'er gulf and bay, 
O'er Ganges, and o'er Himalay, 
Birdlike I fly, and flying sing, 

To flowery kingdoms of Cathay, 
And birdlike poise on balanced wing 
Above the town of King-te-tching, 
A burning town, or seeming so — 
Three thousand furnaces that glow 
Incessantly, and fill the air 
With smoke uprising, gyre on gyre, 
And painted by the lurid glare 
Of jets and flashes of red fire. 

24. As leaves that in the autumn fall, 
Spotted and veined with various hues,. 
Are swept along the avenues. 

And lie in heaps by hedge and wall. 
So from this grove of chimneys whirled 
To all the markets of the world. 
These porcelain leaves are wafted on — 
' Light-yellow leaves, with sjoots and stains 



304. (;atliay=China. The native name i meaning "central flowery 

of China Proper is Chunghwa, \ land." 



Literary Analysis. — 299, 300. Are . . . cljiy. Point out three synonymous 
expressions. Is this tautology, or is it artistic fulness of expression ? 

308. Three thousand furnaces. Supply the ellipsis. 

311. painted by, etc. To what word is this phrase an adjunct .'' 

313-324. As leaves. . . celadon. What kind of sentence grammatically.'' — 
What is the figure of speech .? — Point out an expression of marked delicacy 
and beauty. 



KE RAMOS. 487 

Of violet and of crimson dye, 
Or tender azure of a sky 
Just washed by gentle April rains, 
And beautiful with celadon, 

25. Nor less the coarser household wares — 
The willow pattern that we knew 

In childhood, with its bridge of blue 
Leading to unknown thoroughfares ; 
The solitary man who stares 
At the white river flowing through 
Its arches, the fantastic trees 
And wild perspective of the view; 
And intermingled among these 
The tiles that in our nurseries 
Filled us with wonder and delight. 
Or haunted us in dreams at night. 

26. And yonder by Nankin, behold ! 

The tower of Porcelain, strange and old, 
Uplifting to the astonished skies 
Its ninefold painted balconies. 
With balustrades of twining leaves, 
And roofs of tile, beneath whose eaves 
Hang porcelain bells that all the time 
Ring with a soft, melodious chime ; 
While the whole fabric is ablaze 
With varied tints, all fused in one 
Great mass of color, like a maze 
Of flowers illumined by the sun. 



324. celadon, a color between blue and 
green. By the caprice of the 
court ladies, this color was thus 



called from Celadon, a character 
in the romance of Astree. — 

Menage. 



Literary Analysis. — 325. coarser liouseliold wares. Explain. 
326-332. The Tvillow . . . view. The sub-humorous quality of this descrip- 
tion will be appreciated by all who have seen " the willow pattern." 
339. astonished. Explain the application of the epithet here. 
345-348. While . . . sun. Observe the fine use of words in this passage. 



LONGFELLOW. 

27. Turn, turn, my wheel ! What is begun 

At daybreak must at dark be done, 35° 

To-morrow will be another day; 
To-morrow the hot furnace Jlame 
Will search the heart and try the frame, 
And stamp with ho?ior or with shame 

These vessels made of clay. 355 

28. Cradled and rocked in Eastern seas, 
The islands of the Japanese 
Beneath me lie ; o'er lake and plain 
The stork, the heron, and the crane 

Through the clear realms of azure drift, 360 

And on the hill-side I can see 

The villages of Imari, 

Whose thronged and flaming workshops lift 

Their twisted columns of smoke on high, > 

Cloud-cloisters that in ruins lie, 365 

With sunshine streaming through each rift, 

And broken arches of blue sky. 

29. All the bright flowers that fill the land. 
Ripple of waves on rock or sand. 

The snow on Fusiyama's cone, 37° 

The midnight heaven so thickly sown 

With constellations of bright stars, 

The leaves that rustle, the reeds that make 

A whisper by each stream and lake. 

The saffron dawn, the sunset red, 375 

Are painted on these lovely jars; 

Again the skylark sings, again 



370. Fusiyama's cone. Fusiyama is a 1 Japanese in religious venera- 

volcano in Japan, held by the I tion. 



Literary Analysis. — 353-355. Will search . . . clay. Is this literal or fig- 
urative ? 

365. Cloud-cloisters . . . lie. Explain. 

376. Are painted. What is the compound subject of this verb .'' 



KERAMOS. 489 

The stork, the heron, and the crane 

Float through the azure overhead, 

The counterfeit and counterpart 38° 

Of Nature reproduced in Art. 

30. Art is the child of Nature; yes. 
Her darling child, in whom we trace 
The features of the mother's face. 

Her aspect and her attitude, 383 

All her majestic loveliness 

Chastened and softened and subdued 

Into a more attractive grace, 

And with a human sense imbued. 

He is the greatest artist, then, 390 

Whether of pencil or of pen. 

Who follows Nature. Never man. 

As artist or as artisan. 

Pursuing his own fantasies. 

Can touch the human heart, or please, 395 

Or satisfy our nobler needs, 

As he who sets his willing feet 

In Nature's foot-prints, light and fleet. 

And follows fearless where she leads. 

31. Thus mused I on that morn in May, 400 
Wrapped in my visions like the seer, 

Whose eyes behold not what is near, 

But only what is far away. 

When suddenly sounding, peal on peal, 



Literary Analysis. — 378, 379. The stork ... overhead. Compare with 
lines 359, 360. 

382. Art is the child, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 20.) — 
How is the figure carried out in the subsequent lines ? 

390-392. He is . . . Xature. Analyze this sentence. 

392-399. Never man . . , leads. Transpose into the prose order, supplying 
the ellipsis. — Point out a metaphor in this passage. 

404-406. When . . . noon. What circumstance is deftly introduced by the 
poet to break his reverie ? 



49 o 



LONGFELLOW. 

The church bell from the neighboring town 
Proclaimed the welcome hour of noon. 
The Potter heard, and stopped his wheel, 
His apron on the grass threw down, 
Whistled his quiet little tune 
Not overloud nor overlong, 
iVnd ended thus his simple song : 

32. Stop, stop, my wheel ! Too soon, too soon, 
The noon will be the afternoon. 

Too soon to-day be yesterday : 
Behijid us iii our path we cast 
The broken potsherds of the Past, 
And all are groimd to dust at last, 

And trodden into clay ! 



Literary Analysis. — 412-418. Stop . . . clay! Point out examples of itera- 
tion. — Point out a metaphor. — As a closing study the stanzas embodying the 
song of the Potter may be read by themselves consecutively. 



XXXIII. 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 

1807. 




CHARACTERIZATION BY DAVID WASSON/ 

I. Whittier has not the liberated, light-winged, Greek imagina- 
tion — imagination not involved and included in the religious sen- 
timent, but playing in epic freedom and with various interpreta- 



' From the Atlantic Monthly, March, 1864. 



492 WASSON'S CHARACTERIZATION OF WHITTIER. 

tion between religion and intellect; he has not the flowing, Pro- 
tean, imaginative sympathy, the power of instant self-identification 
with all forms of character and life which culminated in Shake- 
speare; but that imaginative vitality which lurks in faith and con- 
science, producing what we may call ideal force of heart. This he 
has eminently; and it is this central, invisible, Semitic heat which 
makes him a poet. 

2. Imagination exists in him not as a separable faculty, but as 
a pure, vital suffusion. Hence he is an inevitable poet. There 
is no drop of his blood, there is no fibre of his brain, which does 
not crave poetic expression. Mr. Carlyle desires to postpone 
poetry ; but as Providence did not postpone Whittier, his wishes 
can hardly be gratified. Ours is, indeed, one of the plainest of 
poets. He is intelligibly susceptible to those who have little 
either of poetic culture or of fancy and imagination. Whoever 
has common-sense and a sound heart has the powers by which 
he may be appreciated. And yet he is not only a real poet, but 
he is all poet. The Muses have not merely sprinkled his brow; 
he was baptized by immersion. His notes are not many, but in 
them Nature herself sings. He is a sparrow that half sings, half 
chirps on a bush, not a lark that floods with orient hilarity the 
skies of morning ; but the bush burns, like that which Moses saw, 
and the sparrow herself is part of the divine flame. 

3. This, then, is the general statement about Whittier. His gen- 
ius is Hebrew Biblical — more so than that of any other poet nov*^ 
using the English language. In other words, he is organically 
a poem of the Will. He is a flower of the moral sentiment, and 
of the moral sentiment not in its flexible, feminine, vine-like de- 
pendence and play, but in its masculine rigor, climbing in direct, 
vertical affirmation, like a forest pine. In this respect he affiliates 
with Wordsworth and, going farther back, with Milton, whose 
tap-root was Hebrew, though in the vast epic flowering of his 
genius he passed beyond the imaginative range of the Semitic 
mind. 

4. In thus identifying our bard, spiritually, with a broad form 
of the genius of mankind, we already say with emphasis that his 
is indeed a Life. Yes, once more, a real Life. He is a nature. 
He was born, not manufactured. Here, once again, the old, mys- 
terious, miraculous processes of spiritual assimilation. Here a 



PROEM. 



493 



genuine root-clutch upon the elements of man's experience, and 
an inevitable, indomitable working-up of them into human shape. 
To look at him without discerning this vital depth and reality 
were as good as no looking at all. 

5. Moreover, the man and the poet are one and the same. His 
verse is no literary Beau-Brummelism, but a r^- presentation of 
that which is presented in his consciousness. First there is in- 
ward, vital conversion of the elements of his experience, then 
verse, or version — first the soul, then the body. His voice, as 
such, has little range, nor is it any marvel of organic perfection ; 
on the contrary, there is many a voice with nothing at all in it 
which far surpasses his in mere vocal excellence. Only in this 
you can hear the deep refrain of Nature, and of Nature chanting 
her moral ideal. 



I.— PROEM. 

I. I love the old melodious lays 
Which softly melt the ages through, 

The songs of Spenser's golden days, 

Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, 
Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew. 



Notes. — Line 3. Spenser, Edmund 
(1553-1598), one of the most il- 
lustrious of English poets, and 
author of the Faerie Qiieene. 

4. Arcadian Sidney's, etc. Sir Philip 
Sidney (1554-1586), one of the 



most brilliant courtiers and 
writers of Queen Elizabeth's 
age. His principal work is 
The Countess of Pembroke' s Ar- 
cadia : hence the force of " Ar- 
cadian " above. 



Literary Analysis. — i. What word in the lirst line belongs to the diction 
of poetry ? 

2. Which softly melt, etc. What is the figure of speech ? 

3. Spenser's golden days. Whence arises the applicability of the epithet 
"golden" as here used? 

4. Sidney's silyery phrase. Express this in your own words. 

5. What is meant by "our noon of time?" — What is the figure of speech in 
this line ? 



494 



WHITTIER. 

2. Yet, vainly in my quiet hours 

To breathe their marvellous notes I try ; 

I feel them, as the leaves and flowers 

In silence feel the dewy showers, 
And drink with glad, still lips the blessing of the sky. lo 

3. The rigor of a frozen clime, 
The harshness of an untaught ear. 

The jarring words of one whose rhyme 
Beat often Labor's hurried time. 
Or Duty's rugged march through storm and. strife, are here. 15 

4. Of mystic beauty, dreamy grace. 
No rounded art the lack supplies ; 

Unskilled the subtle lines to trace. 
Or softer shades of Nature's face, 
I view her common forms with unanointed eyes. 20 

5. Nor mine the seer-like power to show 
The secrets of the heart and mind ; 

To drop the plummet-line below 
Our common world of joy and woe, 
A more intense despair or brighter hope to find. 25 



Literary Analysis. — 6, 7. ¥et . . . try. Transpose into the prose order. 

8-10. I feel . . . sky. What is the figure of speech.? — What is the subject 
of "drink?" — By what expressive jDaraphrasis does the poet denote "the 
dewy showers .-"' 

II. The rigor . . . clime. State what theory of climatic influence you suppose 
to be in the author's mind. 

14. Beat . . . time. Explain the figure of speech. 

16, 17. Of ... supplies. What kind of sentence rhetorically? — Transpose 
into the direct order. — What is meant by "rounded art?" 

20. I. What are the adjuncts to this pronoun? — Explain the allusion in 
the expression " unanointed eyes." 

23. To drop the plummet-line, etc. What is the figure of speech .? — Express 
the thought in plain language. 



MAUD MULLER. 



495 



6. Yet here at least an earnest sense 
Of human right and weal * is shown j 

A hate of tyranny intense, 
And hearty in its vehemence, 
As if my brother's pain and sorrow were my own. 

7. O Freedom ! if to me belong 
Nor mighty Milton's gift divine, 

Nor Marvell's wit and graceful song. 
Still with a love as deep and strong 
As theirs, I lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine ! 



II.— MAUD MULLER. 

Maud Muller, on a summer's day. 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 

Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking clown, 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing: filled her breast- 



Marvell's wit. Andrew Marvell 
(1620-1678), a prominent re- 
publican in the Cromwellian 
times, and for a while assistant 
to Milton when the latter was 



Latin secretary for the Com- 
monwealth under Cromwell. 
He wrote poems which, though 
little known, are still read with 
jDleasure by persons of taste. 



Literary Analysis. — 27. right and iveal. What is the distinction between 
these synonyms ? 
28. liate. Of what verb is this noun the subject ? 

30. As if . . . own. The pupil cannot fail to feel the heart-beat in this emi- 
nently Whittier-like line. 

31. Freedom! What is the figure of speech .'' (See Def. 23.) 
31-35. What kind of sentence rhetorically is stanza 7.'' 



496 WHITTIER. 

A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid. 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow, across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup, 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

"Thanks !" said the Judge : " a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees \ 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 
And her graceful ankles, bare and brown, 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

Maud Muller looked and sighed : " All me ! 
That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 

My father should wear a broadcloth coat. 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 

I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 

And the baby should have a new toy each day. 



MAUD MULLEN. 497 

And I'd feed the hungry and clodie die poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 45 

And saw Maud Muller standing still : 

" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 

And her modest answer and graceful air 

Show her wise and good as she is fair. 5° 

Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay : 

No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues. 

But low of cattle and song of birds, ss 

And health and quiet and loving words." 

But he thought of his sister, proud and cOld, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 

And Maud was left in the field alone. 60 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon. 
When he hummed in court an old love-tune; 

And the young girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 65 

Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow. 
He watched a picture come and go; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 

Looked out in their innocent surprise. 70 

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead ; 

And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms. 
To dream of meadows and clover blooms ; 
32 



498 



WHITTIER. 

And the proud man sighed wiUi a secret pain, — 
"Ah, that I were free again ! 

Free as when I rode that day 

Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay." 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children played round her door. 

But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer's sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 

And she heard the little spring-brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein. 

And, gazing down with timid grace, 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls : 

The weary wheel to a spinet turned. 
The tallow candle an astral burned; 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug. 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw. 
And joy was duty, and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, " It might have been." 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge ! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all. 
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall ; 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these: "It might have been !" 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes; 

And in the hereafter angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away. 



499 



III.— SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 

Of all the rides, since the birth of time, 

Told in story or sung in rhyme — 

On Apuleius's Golden Ass, 

Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass. 

Witch astride of a human hack, 

Islam's prophet on Al-Borak — 

The strangest ride that ever was sped 

Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Body of turkey, head of owl, 
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl, 
Feathered and ruffled in every part, 
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart. 
Scores of women, old and young, 
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue. 
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane, 
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain : 
" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead !" 



Notes. — 3. Apuleius's Golden Ass. | (Z2\z\\A2:c,mX\v& Arabian Nights' 



Apule'ius, a Roman philoso- 
pher, born in the second century 
of the Christian era. The most 
celebrated of his works is the 
Metamorphosis, or Golden Ass. 
4. one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass. 
See the story of Agib, the third 



Entei-tainments. 
6. Al-Borak, a wondrous imaginary ani- 
mal, on which Mohammed pre- 
tended to have made a night 
journey from Mecca to Jerusa- 
lem and thence to the seventh 
heaven. 



500 



WHITTIER. 

Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips, 

Girls in bloom of cheek and lips, 

Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase 

Bacchus round some antique vase. 

Brief of skirt, with ankles bare, 

Loose of kerchief and loose of hair, 

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, 

Over and over the Maenads sang : 

" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 

By the women o' Morble'ead !" 

Small pity for him ! — he sailed away 
From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay — 
Sailed away from a sinking wreck, 
With his own towns-people on her deck ! 
" Lay by ! lay by !" they called to him ; 
Back he answered, " Sink or swim ! 
Brag of your catch of fish again !" 
And off he sailed through the fog and rain ! 
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart. 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead ! 

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur 
That wreck shall lie for evermore. 
Mother and sister, wife and maid. 
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead 
Over the moaning and rainy sea — 
Looked for the coming that might not be ! 
What did the winds and the sea-birds say 
Of the cruel captain who sailed away ? — 



26. Bacchus. See page 50, note 16. given in allusion to their fren 



Mieiiads saug. The Mtznades were 
the Bacchantes, or priestesses 
of Bacchus : the name was 



zied movements. 
35. Chaleur Bay, an inlet in the Gull 
of St. Lawrence. 



SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE. 501 

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 

By the women of Marblehead ! 55 

Through the street, on either side, 

Up flew windows, doors swung wide, 

Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray. 

Treble lent the fish-horn's bray. 

Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound, 60 

Hulks of old sailors run aground, 

Shook head and fist and hat and cane. 

And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain : 
" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 65 

By the women o' Morble'ead !" 

Sweetly along the Salem road 

Bloom of orchard and lilac showed. ' 

Little the wicked skipper knew 

Of the fields so green and the sky so blue. 70 

Riding there in his sorry trim, 

Like an Indian idol glum and grim. 

Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear 

Of voices shouting far and near : 

" Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, 75 

Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt 
By the women o' Morble'ead !" 

" Hear me, neighbors !" at last he cried — 

" What to me is this noisy ride ? 

What is the shame that clothes the skin go 

To the nameless horror that lives within ? 

Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck, 

And hear a cry from a reeling deck ! 

Hate me and curse me — I only dread 

The hand of God and the face of the dead !" 85 

Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of. Marblehead ! 



502 



WHITTIER. 

Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea 
Said, " God has touched hwi ! — why should we V 
Said an old wife mourning her only son, 
" Cut t^e rogue's tether, and let him rim /" 
So with soft relentings and rude excuse, 
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose, 
And gave him a cloak to hide him in, . 
And left him alone with his shame and sin. 
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, 
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart 
By the women of Marblehead 1 



XXXIV. 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 

1809. 




^^\\ ij if)' 



/yi^^^^i:^/^ /Z^^^ /^^^^^^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY J. G. WHITTIER. 

I. If any reader (and at times we fear it is the case with all) 
needs amusement, and the wholesome alterative of a hearty laugh, 
we commend him not to Dr. Holmes the physician, but to Dr. 
Holmes the scholar, the wit, and the humorist; not to the scien- 



504 



HOLMES. 



tific medical professor's barbarous Latin, but to his poetical pre- 
scriiDtions, given in choice old Saxon. We have tried them, and 
are ready to give the doctor certificates of their efficacy. 

2. Looking at the matter from the point of theory only, we 
should say that a physician could not be otherwise than melan- 
choly. A merry doctor ! Why, one might as well talk of a laugh- 
ing death's-head — the cachinnation of a monk's memento mori. 
This life of ours is sorrowful enough at its best estate. The 
brightest phase of it is "sicklied o'er with the pale cast" of the 
future or the past. But it is the special vocation of the doctor 
to look only upon the shadow; to turn away from the house of 
feasting and go down to that of mourning; to breathe day after 
day the atmosphere of wretchedness ; to grow familiar with suf- 
fering; to look upon humanity disrobed of its pride and glory, 
robbed of all its fictitious ornaments — weak, helpless, naked — and 
undergoing the last fearful metempsychosis from its erect and God- 
like image, the living temple of an enshrined divinity, to the loath- 
some clod and the inanimate dust. His ideas of beauty, the im- 
aginations of his brain, and the affections of his heart, are reg- 
ulated and modified by the irrepressible associations of his luck- 
less profession. Woman as well as man is to him of the earth, 
earthy. He sees incipient disease where the uninitiated see only 
delicacy. A smile reminds him of his dental operations; a blush- 
ing cheek, of his hectic patients; pensive melancholy is dyspep- 
sia; sentimentalism, nervousness. Tell him of lovelorn hearts, 
of the " worm i' the bud," of the mental impalement upon Cupid's 
arrow, like that of a Giaour upon the spear of a Janizary, and he 
can only think of lack of exercise, of tight lacing, and slippers in 
winter. 

3. So much for speculation and theory. In practice it is not 
so bad after all. The grave-digger in Hamlet has his jokes and 
grim jests; we have known many a jovial sexton; and we have 
heard clergymen laugh heartily, at small provocation, close on the 
heel of a cool calculation that the great majority of their fellow- 
creatures were certain of going straight to perdition. Why, then, 
should not even the doctor have his fun ? Nay, is it not his duty 
to be merry, by main force, if necessary ? Solomon, who, from 
his great knowledge of herbs, must have been no mean practi- 
tioner for his day, tells us that " a merry heart doeth good like a 



IVHITTIEirS CHARACTERIZATION OF HOLMES. 



505 



medicine," and universal experience has confirmed the truth of 
his maxim. Hence it is, doubtless, that we have so many anec- 
dotes of facetious doctors, distributing their pills and jokes to- 
gether, shaking at the same time the contents of their phials and 
the sides of their patients. It is merely professional, a trick of 
the practice, unquestionably, in most cases ; but sometimes it is 
a "natural gift," like that of the "bone setters," and "scrofula 
strokers," and " cancer curers," who carry on a sort of guerilla 
war with human maladies. 

4. Such we know to be the case with Dr. Holmes. He was 
born for the "Laughter Cure," as certainly as Preisnitz was for 
the " Water Cure," and has been quite as successful in his way, 
while his prescriptions are infinitely more agreeable. 

5. It was said of James Smith, of the Rejected Addf^esses, that 
" if he had not been a witty man he would have been a great 
man." Hood's humor and drollery kept in the background the 
pathos and beauty of his soberer productions ; and Dr. Holmes, 
we suspect, might have ranked higher, among a large class of 
readers, than he now does, had he never written his Ballad of the 
Oysterman, his Comet, and his September Gale. Such lyrics as La 
Grisette, The Furitan^s Vision, and that unique compound of hu- 
mor and pathos, The Last Leaf, show that he possesses power — 
the power of touching the deeper chords of the heart, and of call- 
ing forth tears as well as smiles. Who does not feel the power 
of this simple picture of the old man, in the last -mentioned 

poem ? 

" But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all he meets, 

Sad and wan ; 
And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 
' They are gone !' 

" The mossy mai^bles resi 
On the lips that he has pressed 

In their bloom ; 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb !" 

6. Dr. Holmes has been likened to Thomas Hood ; but there 
is little in common between them, save the power of combining 



5o6 HOLMES. 

fancy and sentiment with grotesque drollery and humor. Hood, 
under all his whims and oddities, conceals the vehement intensity 
of a reformer. The iron of the world's wrongs has entered into 
his soul. There is an undertone of sorrow in his lyrics. His sar- 
casm, directed against oppression and bigotry, at times betrays 
the earnestness of one whose own withers have been wrung. 
Holmes writes simply for the amusement of himself and his read- 
ers. He deals only with the vanities,4he foibles, and the minor 
faults of mankind, good-naturedly and almost sympathizingly sug- 
gesting excuses for folly, which he tosses about on the horns of 
his ridicule. Long may he live to make broader the face of our 
care-ridden generation, and to realize for himself the truth of the 
wise man's declaration, that " a merry heart is a continual 
feast." 



I.— THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. 

1. Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay. 
That was built in such a logical way 

It ran a hundred years to a day ? 

And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, 

I'll tell you what happened, without delay, — 

Scaring the parson into fits. 

Frightening people out of their wits, — 

Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 

2. Seventeen hundred and fifty-five ; 
Georgius Secundus was then alive, — 
Snuffy old drone from the German hive. 



Literary Analysis. — i. one-lioss shay. It will be observedthat a number 
of words and expressions in this piece belong to the Yankee dialect — \i dialect 
we may venture to call it after Mr. Lowell's clever proof that many of these 
so-called provincialisms are really drawn from the "well of English unde- 
filed." 

2. logical way. In what consists the drollery of the epithet ? 

4. And . . . stay. Point out the example of aposiopesis. (See Def. 39.) 

9-17- Seventeen . . . sliay. Observe the comical effect gained by associating 
the finishing of the one-horse shay with the occurrence of great historical 
events. Explain the allusions. — What metaphors in this stanza, and what is 
their nature ? 



THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. 

That was the year when Lisbon town 
Saw the earth open and gulp her down; 
And Braddock's army was done so brown, 
Left without a scalp to its crown. 
It was on that terrible earthquake day 
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. 

3. Now, in building of chaises, I tell you what. 
There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — 
In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill. 

In panel or crossbar or floor or sill. 
In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still, 
Find it somewhere you must and will, — 
Above or below, or within or without, — 
And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 
A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out. 

4. But the Deacon swore (as deacons do. 
With an " I dew vum," or an " I tell yeou ") 
He would build one shay to beat the taown, 
'n' the kaounty 'n' all the kentry raoun' ; 

It should be so built that it couldn^ break daown 
" Fur," said the Deacon, " 't's mighty plain 
Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain; 
'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 

Is only jest 
T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." 

5. So the Deacon inquired of the village folk 
Where he could find the strongest oak, 
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, — 



5°7 



Literary Analysis. — 18-26. Now . . . out. How is droll emphasis given 
to the statement that in building chaises "there is always somewhere a weak- 
est spot V — doesn't. The poet is too exact a scholar to say don^t. 

27-36. But . . . rest. This stanza affords a goodly study of " Yankee " pro- 
nunciation and phraseology. (Pupils will do well to refer to Mr. Lowell's es- 
say introductory to his Biglow Papers.) 

37~57- So . . • (lew ! The clever handling of details will be observed. Pupils 
may point out touches that strike them as specially noticeable. 



5o8 HOLMES. 

That was for spokes and floor and sills ; 

He sent for lancewood to make the thills; 

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees ; 

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, 

But lasts like iron for things like these; 

The hubs of logs from the " settler's ellum,"— 

Last of its timber, they couldn't sell 'em ; 

Never an axe had seen their chips. 

And the wedges flew from between their lips, 

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips ; 

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 

Steel of the finest, bright and blue ; 

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide ; 

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide. 

Found in the pit when the tanner died. 

That was the way he "put her through." 

"There !" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!" 

6. Do ! I tell you, I rather guess 

She was a wonder, and nothing less ! 
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray. 
Deacon and deaconess dropped away, 
Children and grandchildren, where were they ? 
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay 
As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake day ! 

7. Eighteen Hundred ; — it came and found 
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. 
Eighteen hundred increased by ten; 

" Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. 
Eighteen hundred and twenty came, — 
Running as visual,^ — much the same. 
Thirty and forty at last arrive. 
And then come fifty and fifty-five. 



Literary Analysis. — 58-64. Do . . . day! In this stanza point out a so- 
called Yankeeism which is really good Elizabethan English. — What personi- 
fication is made ? — By what details, skilfully introduced, is the lapse of time 
vividly suggested ? 

66. strouff and sound. Grammatical construction .■' 



THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE. 

8. Little of all we value here 

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year 

Without both feeling and looking queer. 

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

(This is a moral that runs at large ; 

Take it. — You're welcome. — No extra charge.) 

9. First of November — the earthquake day — 
There are traces of age in the one-hoss shay, 
A general flavor of mild decay. 

But nothing local, as one may say. 
There couldn't be, for the Deacon's art 
Had made it so like in every part 
That there wasn't a chance for one to start. 
For the wheels were just as strong as the thills, 
And the floor was just as strong as the sills, 
And the panels just as strong as the floor. 
And the whippletree neither less nor more, 
And the back crossbar as strong as the fore, 
And spring and axle and hub encore. 
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt, 
In another hour it will be worn out! 

10. First of November, fifty-five ! 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 
Now, small boys, get out of the way ! 
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 
" Huddup !" said the parson. — Off went they. 



509 



Literary Analysis. — 73-79. Of the fifty-five words in stanza 8 only six 
are of other than Anglo-Saxon origin : what are these words ? — In this stanza 
point out a fine aphorism. 

80-94. First . . . out ! What expression, reiterated in line 80, begins to grow 
very significant ? — What expression in this stanza finely describes the state of 
the chaise now P^Point out the examples of pol3'syndeton : what is the effect 
of the use of this figure? — Note the rhymes in lines 89-92. 

95-118. First ... burst. In this stanza point out humorous touches and 
comical epithets. — Point out an effective simile. 



5IO HOLMES. 

The parson was working his Sunday's text, — 
Had got io fifthly^ and stopped perplexed 
At what the — Moses — was coming next. 
All at once the horse stood still, 
Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. 
First a shiver, and then a thrill. 
Then something decidedly like a spill, — 
And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 
At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock,— 
Just the hour of the earthquake shock ! 
What do you think the parson found. 
When he got up and stared around .'' 
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound. 
As if it had been to the mill and ground ! 
You see, of course, if you're not a dunce. 
How it went to pieces all at once — 
All at once, and nothing first — 
Just as bubbles do when they burst. 

II. End of the wonderful one-hoss shay. 
Logic is logic. That's all I say. 



II.— THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 

1. This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, 

Sails the unshadowed main — 

The venturous bark that flings 
On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings. 

And coral reefs lie bare. 
Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. 

2. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; 

Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! 

And every chambered cell. 
Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
As the frail tenant shaped its growing shell. 

Before thee lies revealed — 
Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 



THE LAST LEAF. 



511 



Year after year beheld the silent toil 

That spread his lustrous coil; 

Still, as the spiral grew, 
He left the past year's dwelling for the new. 
Stole Avith soft step its shining archway through, 

Built up its idle door. 
Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. 

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, 

Child of the wandering sea, 

Cast from her lap forlorn ! 
From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 
Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings — 

Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul. 

As the swift seasons roll ! 

Leave thy low-vaulted past ! 
Let each new temple, nobler than the last, 
Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, 

Till thou at length art free. 
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea ! 



III.— THE LAST LEAF. 

1. I saw him once before. 
As he passed by the door, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound, 
As he totters o'er the ground 

With his cane. 

2. They say that in his prime, 
Ere the pruning-knife of Time 

Cut him down. 
Not a better man was found 
By the crier on his round 

Through the town. 



512 



HOLMES. 

3. But now he walks the streets, 
And he looks at all he meets 

Sad and wan ; 
And he shakes his feeble head, 
That it seems as if he said, 

" They are gone." 

4. The mossy marbles rest 

On the lips that he has pressed 

In their bloom; 
And the names he loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb. 

5. My grandmamma has said — 
Poor old lady she is dead 

Long ago — 
That he had a Roman nose, 
And his cheek was like a rose 

In the snow. 

6. But now his nose is thin, 
And it rests upon his cliin 

Like a staff; 
And a crook is in his back. 
And a melancholy crack 

In his laugh. 

7. I know it is a sin 

For me to sit and grin 

At him here ; 
But the old three-cornered hat, 
And the breeches, and all that, 

Are so queer ! 

8. And if I should live to be 
The last leaf upon the tree 

In the spring. 
Let them smile, as I do now, 
At the old forsaken bough 

Where I cling. 



XXXV. 

ALFRED TENNYSON. 

1810. 





>jrvs>A/hr^ 



CHARACTERIZATION BY BAYARD TAYLOR. 

I. No English poet, with the possible exception of Byron, has 
so ministered to the natural appetite for poetry in the people as 
Tennyson. Byron did this — unintentionally, as all genius does 
— by warming and arousing their dormant sentiment : Tennyson 



CI4 TENNYSON. 

by surprising them into the recognition of a new luxury in the 
harmony and movement of poetic speech. I use the word " lux- 
ury " purposely ; for no other word will express the glow and 
richness and fulness of his technical qualities. It was scarcely 
a wonder that a generation accustomed to look for compact and 
palpable intellectual forms in poetry — a generation which was 
still hostile to Keats and Shelley, and had not yet caught up 
with Wordsworth — should at first regard this new flower as an 
interpolating weed. But when its blossom-buds fully expanded 
into gorgeous, velvety-crimsoned, golden-anthered tiger-lilies, fill- 
ing the atmosphere of our day with deep, intoxicating spice- 
odors, how much less wonder that others should snatch the seed 
and seek to make the acknowledged flower their own ? 

2. Tennyson must be held guiltless of all that his followers 
and imitators have done. His own personal aim has been pure 
and lofty ; but without his intention or will, or even expectation, 
he has stimulated into existence a school of what might be 
called Decorative Poetry. I take the adjective from its present 
application to a school of art. I have heard more than one dis- 
tinguished painter in England say of painting, " It is simply a 
decorative art." Hence it needs only a sufficiency of form to 
present color ; the expression of an idea, perspective, chiaro-os- 
curo do not belong to it ; for these address themselves to the 
mind, whereas art addresses itself only to the eye." This is no 
place to discuss such a materialistic heresy ; I mention it only 
to make my meaning clear. We may equally say that decora- 
tive poetry addresses itself only to the ears, and seeks to occupy 
an intermediate ground between poetry and music. I need not 
give instances. They are becoming so common that the natu- 
ral taste of mankind, which may be surprised and perverted for a 
time, is beginning to grow fatigued, and the flower — as Tennyson 
justly complains in his somewhat petulant poem — will soon be a 
weed again. 

3. Such poems 2.?, Morte d' Arthur, The Talking Oak, Locksley 
Hall, Ulysses, and The Two Voices, wherein thought, passion, and 
imagination, combined in their true proportions, breathe through 
full, rich, and haunting forms of verse, at once gave Tennyson 
his place in English literature. The fastidious care with which 
every image was wrought, every bar of the movement adjusted 



TAYLOR'S CHARACTERIZATION OF TENNYSON. 



515 



to the next, and attuned to the music of all, every epithet chosen 
for point, freshness, and picturesque effect, every idea restrained 
within the limits of close and clear expression — these virtues, so 
intimately fused, became a sudden delight for all lovers of 
poetry, and for a time affected their appreciation of its more un- 
pretending and artless forms. The poet's narrow circle of ad- 
mirers widened at once, taking in so many of the younger gen- 
eration that the old doubters were one by one compelled to 
yield. Poe, possessing much of the same artistic genius in poet- 
ry, was the first American author to welcome Tennyson ; and I 
still remember the eagerness with which, as a boy of seventeen, 
after reading his paper, I sought for the volume, and I remem- 
ber also the strange sense of mental dazzle and bewilderment I 
experienced on the first perusal of it. I can only compare it 
with the first sight of a sunlit landscape through a prison : every 
object has a rainbowed outline. One is fascinated to look again 
and again though the eye-ache. 

4. Hundreds of Tennyson's lines and phrases have become 
fixed in the popular memory ; and there is scarcely one that is 
not suggestive of beauty, or consoling, or heartening. His 
humanity is not a passion, but it uses occasion to express itself ; 
his exclusive habits and tastes are only to be implied from his 
works. He delights to sing of honor and chastity and fidel- 
ity, and his most voluptuous measures celebrate no greater in- 
dulgences than indolence and the sensuous delight of life. With 
an influence in literature unsurpassed since that of Byron, he 
may have incited a morbid craving for opulent speech in less 
gifted writers, but he has never disseminated morbid views of 
life. His conscious teaching has always been wholesome and 
elevating. In spite of the excessive art, which I have treated as 
his prominent fault as a poet — nay, partly in consequence of it — 
he has given more and keener delight to the reading world than 
any other author during his lifetime. This is an honorable, en- 
during, and far-shining record. I know not where to turn for an 
equal illustration of the prizes to be won and the dangers to be 
encountered through the consecration of a life to the sole ser- 
vice of poetry. 

5. Tennyson has thoroughly experienced the two extreme 
phases of the world's regard. For twelve years after his first 



5i6 TENNYSON. 

appearance as a poet, he was quietly overlooked by the public, 
and was treated to more derision than criticism by the literary 
journals. When his popularity once struck root, it grew rapidly, 
and in a few years became an overshadowing fashion. Since 
the publication of his first Idylls of the King, it has been almost 
considered as a heresy, in England, to question the perfection 
of his poetry ; even the sin of his art came to be regarded as its 
special virtue. The estimate of his performance rose into that 
extravagance which sooner or later provokes a reaction against 
itself. There are, at present, signs of the beginning of such a 
reaction, and we need not be surprised if (as in Byron's case) it 
should swing past the line of justice, and end by undervaluing, 
for a time, many of the poet's high and genuine qualities. 
This is the usual law of literary fame which has known such 
vicissitudes. Its vibrations, though lessened, continue until 
Time, the sure corrector of all aberrations of human judgment, 
determines its moveless place. And Tennyson's place in the 
literature of the English language, whatever may be its relation 
to that of the acknowledged masters of song, is sure to be high 
and permanent. 



UL YSSES. 



517 



I.— ULYSSES. 

[Introduction. — This poem contains seventy as strong lines of blank 
verse as are to be found in the English language. It has been pronounced 
"the soul of all Homer." Under the heroic form of the Homeric Ulysses, 
the poem symbolizes the passionate desire felt by all noble souls " to seek a 
newer world " — 

"To follow knowledge, like a sinking star. 
Beyond tlie utmost bound of human thought."] 

It little profits that, an idle king, 
By this still hearth, among these barren crags, 
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole 
Unequal laws unto a savage race, 
That hoard and sleep and feed and know not me. 
I cannot rest from travel : I will drink 
Life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed 
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those 
That loved me, and alone : on shore, and when 
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades 
Vexed the dim sea. I am become a name ; 
For, always roaming with a hungry heart. 



Notes. — Ulysses. Ulysses, called 
Odysseus ('O^wcro-evc) by the 
Greeks, was one of the princi- 
. pal Greek heroes in the Trojan 
war. But the most celebrated 
part of his story consists of his 
adventures after the destruction 
of Troy, which form the subject 
of the Homeric poem called, 
. after him, the Odyssey. 

I, 2. idle king . . . crags. Ulysses is 
here supposed to have finished 



his twenty years of adventurous 
wanderings, and to have re- 
turned to the "barren crags" 
of the island of Ithaca, which 
he ruled. 
3. aged wife: that is, Penelope. 
10. Hyades, a cluster of five stars in 
the face of the constellation 
Taurus, supposed by the an- 
cients to indicate the approach 
of rainy weather when they rose 
with the sun. 



Literary Analysis. — 1-5. it . . . me. Is the structure periodic or loose ? 
What is the logical subject of the verb "profits," of which "it" is the antici- 
pative subject ? 

3. mete and dole. What is the distinction between these synonyms .'' 

6, 7. Trill drink . . . lees. What is the figure of speech ? 

II. Vexed, etc. What is the figure of speech? — I am become a name. Ex- 
plain. 



5i8 TENNYSON. 

Much have I seen and known — cities of men, 

And manners, climates, councils, governments 

(Myself not least, but honored of them all) — 

And drunk delight of battle with my peers 

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 

I am a part of all that I have met ; 

Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough 

Gleams that untravelled world whose margin fades 

Forever and forever when I move. 

How dull it is to pause, to make an end, 

To rust unburnished, not to shine in use ! 

As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life 

Were all too little, and of one to me 

Little remains \ but every hour is saved 

From that eternal silence — something more, 

A bringer of new things; and vile it were 

For some three suns to store and hoard myself, 

And this gray spirit yearning in desire 

To follow knowledge, like a sinking star. 

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought. 

This is my son, mine own Telemachus, 
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle — 
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil 
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild 
A rugged people, and through soft degrees 
Subdue them to the useful and the good. 
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere 
Of common duties, decent not to fail 
In offices of tenderness, and pay 
Meet adoration to my household gods 
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 



Literary Analysis. — 18. I am a part, etc. Paraphrase this statement. 

19-21. Yet all . . . move. What is the figure of speech } — These three noble 
lines should be committed to memory. 

23. To rust unburiiislied, etc. On what is the figure founded? 

27. that eternal silence. For what word is this expression a periphrasis ? 

30. spirit. What is the grammatical construction ? 

33~43' This is my son . . . mine. Draw out in your own language the fine 
contrast of character between Ulysses and his son Telemachus. 



ULYSSES. 



519 



There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; 
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, 45 

Souls that have toiled and wrought and thought with me, 
That ever with a frolic welcome took 
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed 
Free hearts, free foreheads, you and I are old. 
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil. 5° 

Death closes all ; but something ere the end, 
Some work of noble note, may yet be done. 
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods. 
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks ; 
The long day wanes ; the slow moon climbs ; the deep ss 
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. 
Push off, and, sitting well in order, smite 
The sounding furrows ; for my purpose holds 
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths 60 

Of all the western stars, until I die. 
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down ; 
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, 
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew. 
Though much is taken, much abides ; and though 65 

We are not now that strength which in old days 
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are : 



63. H.nppy Isles, the " Fortunate Isles," 
or Islands of the Blessed. The 
early Greeks, as we learn from 
Homer, placed the Elysian 
Fields, into which the favored 
heroes passed without dying, at 
the extremity of the earth, near 



the river Oceanus. In poems 
later than Homer, an island is 
spoken of as their abode, and is 
placed by the poets beyond the 
Pillars of Hercules. The name 
" Fortunate Isles " was after- 
wards applied to the Canaries. 



Literary Analysis. — 44-53. There lies , . . gods. Of the words in these 
ten lines ten are of other than Anglo-Saxon origin. What are these words .' 
What effect is gained by the use of so large a proportion of Anglo-Saxon 
words ? — Point out an instance of personification in this passage. 

54-70. The lights . . . yield. In this passage point out specially vigorous or 
picturesque words or expressions. — Point out an instance of metaphor. — Ex- 
plain what is meant by the fine expression "the baths of all the western stars." 
— Note the strong staccato effect of the monosyllables in the last two lines. 



520 



TENNYSON. 



One equal temper of heroic hearts, 

Made weak by tmie-and fate, but strong in will 

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 



II.— LOCKSLEY HALL. 



Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn ; 
Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle- 
horn. 

'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call. 
Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall ; s 

Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, 
And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into cataracts. 

Many a night from yonder ivied casement, ere I went to rest. 
Did I look on great Orion sloping slowly to the west. 

Many a night I saw the Pleiads, rising through the mellow lo 

shade. 
Glitter like a swarm of fire-flies tangled in a silver braid. 

Here about the beach I wandered, nourishing a youth sublime 
With the fairy tales of science, and the long result of time ; 

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land reposed; is 

When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed : 

When I dipped into the future far as human eye could see; 
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be. 

In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; 

In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest ; 20 

In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove; 
In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of 
love. 

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so 

young, 25 

And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung. 



LOCKS LEY HALL. 52 1 

And I said, " My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me, 
Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee." 

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color and a light, 

As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night. so 

And she turned — her bosom shaken with a sudden storm of 

sighs — 
All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes — 

Saying, " I have hid my feelings, fearing they should do me 
wrong;" 35 

Saying, "Dost thou love me, cousin?" weeping, "I have loved 
thee long." 

Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing 

hands; 
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. 40 

Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with 

might ; 
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of 

sight. 

Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring, 45 
And her whisper thronged my pulses with the fulness of the 
spring. 

Many an evening by the waters did we watch the stately ships, 
And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips. 

O my cousin, shallow-hearted ! O my Amy, mine no more ! 5° 

O the dreary, dreary moorland ! O the barren, barren shore ! 

Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung, 
Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue ! 

Is it well to wish thee happy ? — having known me— to decline 
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine ! ss 

Yet it shall be : thou shalt lower to his level day by day. 
What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathize with 
clay. 



522 



TENNYSON. 



As the husband is, the wife is : thou art mated with a clown, 
And the grossness of his nature will have weight to drag thee 60 
down. 

He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel 

force, 
Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse. 

What is this ? his eyes are heavy : think not they are glazed with 65 

wine. 
Go to him (it is thy duty ; kiss him) ; take his hand in thine. 

It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is overwrought : 
Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him with thy lighter 
thought. 70 

He will answer to the purpose, easy things to understand — 
Better thou wert dead before me, though I slew thee with my 
hand ! 

Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace. 
Rolled in one another's arms, and silent in a last embrace. 75 

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of 

youth ! 
Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth ! 

Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's rule ! 
Cursed be the gold that gilds the straitened forehead of the 80 
fool! 

Well — 'tis well that I should bluster! Hadst thou less un- 
worthy proved — 

Would to God — for I had loved thee more than ever wife was 
loved. gj 

Am I mad that I should cherish that which bears but bitter 

fruit ? 
I will jDluck it from my bosom, though my heart be at the root. 

Never, though my mortal summers to such length of years should 
come go 

As the many -wintered crow that leads the clanging rookery 
home. 



LOCKSLBY HALL. 523 

Where is comfort ? in division of the records of the mind ? 
Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I knew her, kind ? 

I remember one that perished: sweetly did she speak and 95 

move : 
Such an one do I remember, whom to look at was to love. 

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore ? 
No ; she never loved me truly : love is love for evermore. 

Comfort ? comfort scorned of devils ! This is truth the poet 100 

sings, 
That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier 

things. 

Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to 

proof, 105 

In the dead, unhappy night, when the rain is on the roof. 

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall. 
Where the dying night-lamp flickers and the shadows rise and 
fall. 

Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing to his drunken no 

sleep, 
To thy widowed marriage pillows, to the tears that thou wilt 

weep. 

Thou shalt hear the " Never, never," whispered by the phantom 

years, "s 

And a song from out the distance in the ringing of thine ears; 

And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient kindness on thy 

pain. 
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow ; get thee to thy rest again. 

Nay, but Nature brings thee solace ; for a tender voice will cry. 120 
'Tis a purer life than thine ; a lip to drain thy trouble dry. 

Baby lips will laugh me down : my latest rival brings thee rest. 
Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast. 

Oh, the child, too, clothes the father with a dearness not his due. 
Half is thine and half is his: it will be worthy of the two. 125 



524 



TENNYSON. 



Oh, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part, 
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's 
heart. 

" They were dangerous guides the feelings — she herself was not 

exempt — 13° 

Truly, she herself had suffered." — Perish in thy self-contempt! 

Overlive it — lower yet — be happy ! wherefore should I care ? 
I myself must mix with action, lest I wither by despair. 

What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like 

these ? 135 

Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden keys. 

Every gate is thronged with suitors, all the markets overflow. 
I have but an angry fancy : what is that which I should do ? 

I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground. 
When the ranks are rolled in vapor and the winds are laid with 140* 
sound. 

But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels, 
And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels. 

Can I but relive in sadness ? I will turn that earlier page. 

Hide me from my deep emotion, O thou wondrous Mother Age ! us 

Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife. 
When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life ; 

Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would 

yield; 
Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field, 150 

And at night along the dusky highway, near and nearer drawn, 
Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn; 

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then. 
Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men — 

Men my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something 155 

new : 
That which they have done but earnest of the things that they 

shall do. 



LOCKSLEY HALL. 525' 

For I dipped into the future far as human eye could see, 

Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be ; i6c 

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails. 
Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales ; 

Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly 

dew 
From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue ; 165 

Far along the world-wide whisper of the south wind rushing 
warm. 

With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thun- 
der-storm ; 

Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were 170 

furled 
In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world. 

There the common-sense of most shall hold a. fretful realm in 

awe, 
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapped in universal law. 175 

So I triumphed ere my passion sweeping through me left me 

dry. 
Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced 

eye — 

Eye to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint : iSo 
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on from point to 
point. 

Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher. 
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly dying fire. 

Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, iSs 
And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the 
suns. 

What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, 
Though the deep heart of existence beat forever like a boy's ! 

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the igo 

shore. 
And the individual withers, and the world is more and more. 



526 



TENNYSON. 



Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden 

breast, 
Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest. 195 

Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding on the bugle-horn. 
They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn : 

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a mouldered 

string ? 
I am shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a 200 

thing. 

Weakness to be wroth with weakness ! woman's pleasure, wom- 
an's pain — 

Nature made them blinder motions bounded in a shallower 

brain. 205 

Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, matched with 

mine. 
Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine. 

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. Ah for some 

retreat 210 

Deep in yonder shining Orient, where my life began to beat ; 

Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father, evil-starred ! 
I was left a trampled orphan and a selfish uncle's ward. 

Or to burst all links of habit, there to wander far away. 

On from island unto island at the gate-ways of the day. 215 

Larger constellations burning, mellow moons and happy skies, 
Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster, knots of Para- 
dise. 

Never comes the trader, never floats an European flag. 
Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, swings the trailer from 220 
the crag ; 

Droops the heavy-blossomed bower, hangs the heavy-fruited 

tree — 
Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea. 



LOCKSLEY HALL. ^27 

There methinks would be enjoyment more than m this march of 225 
mind, 

In the steamship, in the railway, in the thoughts that shake man- 
kind. 

There the passions cramped no longer shall have scope and 

breathing-space ; 230 

I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race. 

Iron-jointed, supple-sinewed, they shall dive and they shall run, 
Catch the wild goat by the hair and hurl their lances in the 
sun ; 

Whistle back the parrot's call and leap the rainbows of the 235 

brooks. 
Not with blinded eyesight poring over miserable books. 

Fool, again the dream, the fancy ! but I know my words are 

wild. 
But I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian child. 240 

/, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of our glorious gains. 
Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast with lower 
pains ! 

Mated with a squalid savage — what to me were sun or clime ? 

I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time — 245 

I that rather held it better men should perish one by one 
Than that earth should stand at gaze like Joshua's moon in 
Ajalon ! 

Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us 

range. 250 

Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of 
change. 

Through the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger 

day : 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. 255 

Mother Age (for mine I knew not), help me as when life begun : 
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the 
Sun. 



528 



TENNYSON. 



Oh, I see the crescent promise of my spu'it hath not set. 

Ancient founts of inspiration well through all my fancy yet. 260 

Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall ! 
Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree 
fall. 

Conies a vapor from the margin, blackening over heath and 

holt, 26s 

Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. 

Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow ; 
For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go. 



XXXVI. 

WILLIAM M. THACKERAY. 
1811-1863. 



/// 



l(# 




m- 





c^ 



TRIBUTE BY CHARLES DICKENS. 

I. I saw Thackeray first, nearly twenty-eight years ago, when 
he proposed to become the illustrator of my earliest book. I 
saw him last, shortly before Christmas,' at the Athenaeum Club, 



34 



53^ 



THACKERAY. 



when he told me that he had been in bed three days — that, after 
these attacks, he was troubled with cold shiverings, " which quite 
took the power of work out of him " — and that he had it in his 
inind to try a new remedy which he laughingly described. He 
was very cheerful, and looked very bright. In the night of that 
day week he died. 

2. The long interval between those two periods is marked in 
my remembrance of him by many occasions when he was su- 
premely humorous, when he was irresistibly extravagant, when 
he was softened and serious, when he was charming with chil- 
dren. But by none do I recall him more tenderly than by two 
or three that start out of the crowd, when he unexpectedly pre- 
sented himself in my room, announcing how that some passage 
in a certain book had made him cry yesterday, and how that he 
had come to dinner, "because he couldn't help it," and must 
talk such passage over. No one can ever have seen him more 
genial, natural, cordial, fresh, and honestly impulsive than I 
have seen him at those times. No one can be surer than I of 
the greatness and goodness of the heart that then disclosed it- 
self. 

3. We had our differences of opinion. I thought that he too 
much feigned a want of earnestness, and that he made a pre- 
tence of undervaluing his art, which was not good for the art 
that he held in trust. But when we fell upon these topics, it 
was never very gravely, and I have a lively image of him in my 
mind, twisting both his hands in his hair, and stamping about, 
laughing, to make an end of the discussion. 

4. When we were associated in remembrance of the late Mr. 
Douglas Jerrold, he delivered a public lecture in London, in the 
course of which he read his very best contribution to Ptinch, 
describing the grown-up cares of a poor family of young chil- 
dren. No one hearing him could have doubted his natural 
gentleness, or his thoroughly unaffected manly sympathy with 
the weak and lowly. He read the paper most pathetically, and 
with a simplicity of tenderness that certainly moved one of his 
audience to tears. This was presently after his standing for Ox- 
ford, from which place he had despatched his agent to me, with 
a droll note (to which he afterward added a verbal postscript), 
urging me to " come down and make a speech, and tell them 



DICKENS'S TRIBUTE TO THACKERAY. 



531 



who he was, for he doubted whether more than two of the elec- 
tors had ever heard of him, and he thought there might be as 
many as six or eight who had heard of me." He introduced 
the lecture just mentioned with a reference to his late elec- 
tioneering failure, which was full of good sense, good spirits, 
and good humor. 

5. He had a particular delight in boys, and an excellent way 
with them. I remember his once asking me with fantastic grav- 
ity, when he had been to Eton where my eldest son then was, 
whether I felt as he did in regard of never seeing a boy without 
wanting instantly to give him a sovereign ? I thought of this 
when I looked down into his grave, after he was laid there, for I 
looked down into it over the shoulder of a boy to whom he had 
been kind. 

6. These are slight remembrances ; but it is to little familiar 
things suggestive of the voice, look, manner — never, never more 
to be encountered on this earth — that the mind first turns in a 
bereavement. And greater things that are known of him, in the 
way of his warm affections, his quiet endurance, his unselfish 
thoughtfulness for others, and his munificent hand, may be 
told. 

7. If, in the reckless vivacity of his youth, his satirical pen had 
ever gone astray or done amiss, he had caused it to prefer its 
own petition for forgiveness, long before : 

I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain ; 

The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain ; 

The idle word that he'd wish back again. 

8. In no pages should I take it upon myself at this time to 
discourse of his books, of his refined knowledge of character, of 
his subtle acquaintance with the weaknesses of human nature, of 
his delightful playfulness as an essayist, of his quaint and touch- 
ing ballads, of his mastery over the English language. Least of 
all, in these pages, enriched by his brilliant qualities from the 
first of the series, and beforehand accepted by the public through 
the strength of his great name. 

9. But, on the table before me, there lies all that he had writ- 
ten of his latest and last story. That it would be very sad to 
any one — that it is inexpressiby so to a writer — in its evidences 



532 



THA CKERA V. 



of matured designs never to be accomplished, of intentions be- 
gun to be executed and destined never to be completed, of care- 
ful preparation for long roads of thought that he was never to 
traverse, and for shining goals that he was never to reach, will 
be readily believed. The pain, however, that I have felt in pe- 
rusing it has not been deeper than the conviction that he was in 
the healthiest vigor of his powers when he wrought on this last 
labor. In respect of earnest feeling, far-seeing purpose, char- 
acter, incident, and a certain loving picturesqueness blending 
the whole, I believe it to be much the best of all his works. 
That he fully meant it to be so, that he had become strongly 
attached to it, and that he bestowed great pains upon it, I trace 
in almost every page. It contains one picture which must have 
cost him extreme distress, and which is a masterpiece. There 
are two children in it, touched with a hand as loving and tender 
as ever a father caressed his little child with. There is some 
young love, as pure and innocent and pretty as the truth. And 
it is very remarkable that, by reason of the singular construction 
of the story, more than one main incident usually belonging to 
the end of such a fiction is anticipated in the beginning, and 
thus there is an approach to completeness in the fragment, as to 
the satisfaction of the reader's mind concerning the most inter- 
esting persons, which could hardly have been better attained if 
the writer's breaking-off had been foreseen. 

lo. The last line he wrote, and the last proof he corrected, are 
among these papers through which I have so sorrowfully made 
my way. The condition of the little pages of manuscript where 
Death stopped his hand shows that he had carried them about, 
and often taken them out of his pocket here and there, for pa- 
tient revision and interlineation. The last words he corrected 
in print were, "And my heart throbbed with an exquisite bliss." 
God grant that on that Christmas Eve, when he laid his head 
back on his pillow and threw up his arms as he had been wont 
to do when very weary, some consciousness of duty done and 
Christian hope throughout life humbly cherished may have 
caused his own heart so to throb when he passed away to his 
Redeemer's rest ! 



DE FINIBUS. 



DE FINIBUS. 



533 



[Introduction. — The following paper, De Finibus (Concerning Conclu- 
sions), is one of a series which, under the title of "Roundabout Papers," was 
published in the Cornhill Magazine. It has reference to the finishing of the 
novel called The Adventures of Philip, the last complete work of Thackeray. 
To extract from novels is an unsatisfactory task, and hence this paper is se- 
lected as having the advantage of completeness. . Though it does not show 
the author at his best, it is characterized by much of his rare charm of style.] 

I. When Swift was in love with Stella, and despatching her a 
letter from London thrice a month by the Irish packet, you may 
remember how he would begin letter No. XXIII., we will say, on 
the very day when XXII. had been sent away, stealing out of the 
coffee-house or the assembly so as to be able to prattle with his s 
dear ; " never letting go her kind hand, as it were," as some com- 
mentator or other has said in speaking of the Dean and his 
amour. When Mr. Johnson, walking to Dodsley's, and touching 
the posts in Pall Mall as he walked, forgot to pat the head of 
one of them, he went back and imposed his hands on it, impelled lo 
I know not by what superstition. I have this, I hope not dan- 
gerous, mania, too. As soon as a piece of work is out of hand, 
and before going to sleep, I like to begin another : it may be to 
write only half a dozen lines ; but there is something towards 
Number the Next. The printer's boy has not yet reached Green is 
Arbor Court with the copy. Those people who were alive half 
an hour since— Pendennis, Olive Newcome, and (what do you 
call him? what was the name of the last hero? I remember 
now !) Philip Firmin — have hardly drunk their glass of wine, 
and the mammas have only this minute got the children's cloaks 20 



Literary .Analysis. — i. Swift. Who was Swift } (See Characterization 
of him in this book.) 

1-8. Wlieu . . . amour. What kind of sentence grammatically ? Rhetorically ? 

8. Mr. Johnson. Who was Dr. Samuel Johnson.^ (See Characterization in 
this book.) 

10, II. impelled ... superstition. Give the grammatical analysis of these 
words. 

16. copy. Meaning of the word? 

17-19. Pendennis, Olive Newcome . . . Philip Firmin. State in which of the 
novels of Thackeray these characters appear. — In what consists the drollery 
of the mode in which the name " Philip Firmin " is introduced ? 



534 



THACKERAY. 



on, and have been bowed out of my premises, and here I come 
back to the study again : tamen usque recurro. How lonely it 
looks, now all these people are gone ! My dear, good friends, 
some folks are utterly tired of you, and say, " What a poverty of 
friends the man has ! He is always asking us to meet those 25 
Pendennises, Newcomes, and so forth. Why does he not intro- 
duce us to some new characters ? Why is he not thrilling like 
Twostars, learned and profound like Threestars, exquisitely hu- 
morous and human like Fourstars ? Why, finally, is he not 
somebody else ?" My good people, it is not only impossible to 3° 
please you all, but it is absurd to try. The dish which one man 
devours, another dislikes. Is the dinner of to-day not to your 
taste ? Let us hope to-morrow's entertainment will be more 
agreeable. ... I resume my original subject. What an odd, 
pleasant, humorous, melancholy feeling it is to sit in the study, 35 
alone and quiet, now all these people are gone who have been 
boarding and lodging with me for twenty months ! They have 
interrupted my rest ; they have plagued me at all sorts of min- 
utes ; they have thrust themselves upon me when I was ill or 
wished to be idle, and I have growled out a " Be hanged to you ! 40 
can't you leave me alone now?" Once or twice they have pre- 
vented my going out to dinner. Many and many a time they 
have prevented my coming home, because I knew they were 
there waiting in the study, and a plague take them ! and I have 
left home and family, and gone to dine at the Club, and told no- 4s 
body where I went. They have bored me, those people. They 
have plagued me at all sorts of uncomfortable hours. They 
have made such a disturbance in my mind and house that 
sometimes I have hardly known what was going on in my fami- 
ly, and scarcely have heard what my neighbor said to me. They 50 



Literary Analysis. — 22. tamen usque recurro, "yet do I always return." 
(For the full quotation, of which this is an adaptation, see Webster's Diction- 
ary, under Latin Quotations — Nahiram expellas, etc.) 

22, 23. How lonely . . . gone! What kind of sentence grammatically? 

24, 25. What a poverty of friends. Substitute a synonymous expression. 

31,32. The dish. . . dislikes. What is the figure of speech? What com- 
mon proverb expresses the same sentiment ? 

37- boarding and lodging with me. Explain. 

46. They . . . people. Point out the pleonasm. 



DE FINIBUS. 



535 



are gone at last, and you would expect me to be at ease ? Far 
from it. I should almost be glad if Woolcomb would walk in 
and talk to me or Twysden reappear, take his place in that chair 
opposite me, and begin one of his tremendous stories. 

2. Madmen, you know, see visions, hold conversations with, even ss 
draw the likeness of, people invisible to you and me. Is this 
making of people out of fancy madness, and are novel-writers at 
all entitled to strait-waistcoats ? I often forget people's names 
in life, and in my own stories contritely own that I make dread- 
ful blunders regarding them ; but I declare, my dear sir, with re- 60 
spect to the personages introduced into your humble servant's 
fables, I know the people utterly — I know the sound of their 
voices. A gentleman came in to see me the other day, who was 
so like the picture of Philip Firmin in Mr. Walker's charming 
drawings in the CornJiiJI Magazine that he was quite a curiosity 65 
to me. The same eyes, beard, shoulders, just as you have seen 
them from month to month. Well, he is not like the Philip 
Firmin in my mind. Asleep, asleep in the grave, lies the bold, 
the generous, the reckless, the tender-hearted creature whom I 
have made to pass through those adventures which have just 70 
been brought to an end. It is years since I heard the laughter 
ringing, or saw the bright blue eyes. When I knew him, both 
were young. I become young as I think of him. And this 
morning he was alive again in this room, ready to laugh, to 
fight, to weep. As I write, do you know, it is the gray of even- 75 
ing ; the house is quiet ; everybody is out ; the room is getting 
a little dark; and I look rather wistfully up from the paper with 
perhaps ever so little fancy that he may come in. — No ? No 
movement. No gray shade, growing more palpable, out of which 
at last look the well-known eyes. No ; the printer came and so 
took him away with the last page of the proofs. And with the 
printer's boy did the whole cortege of ghosts flit away, invisible ? 



Literary Analysis. — 55. Madinen, you know, etc. Analyze this sentence. 

58. strait-waistcoats. Explain. 

62. 1 linow tlie people utterly. How is this general statement rendered em- 
phatic by a specific instance of his knowledge? 

68. Asleep, etc. Point out the example of epizeuxis. (See Def. 35.) — How 
does the order of the words add to the vivacity of the sentence. — Arrange the 
sentence in the prose order. 



536 



THACKERAY. 



Ha ! stay ! what is this ? Angels and ministers of grace ! The 
door opens, and a dark form — enters, bearing a black — a black 
suit of clothes. It is John. He says it is time to dress for 85 
dinner. 

****** 

3. Every man who has had his German tutor, and has been 
coached through the famous Faust of Goethe (thou wert my in- 
structor, good old Weissenborn, and these eyes beheld the great 
master himself in dear little Weimar town !), has read those 9° 
charming verses which are prefixed to the drama, in which the 
poet reverts to the time when his work was first composed, and 
recalls the friends, now departed, who once listened to his song. 
The dear shadows rise up around him, he says ; he lives in the 
past again. It is to-day which appears vague and visionary. 9S 
We humbler writers cannot create Fausts, or raise up monumen- 
tal works that shall endure for all ages ; but our books are 
diaries,* in which our own feelings must of necessity be set down. 
As we look to the page written last month, or ten years ago, we 
remember the day and its events — the child ill, mayhap, in the 100 
adjoining room, and the doubts and fears which racked the brain 
as it still pursued its work ; the dear old friend who read the 
commencement of the tale, and whose gentle hand shall be laid 
in ours no more. I own, for my part, that, in reading pages 
which this hand penned formerly, I often lose sight of the text 105 
under my eyes. It is not the words I see, but that past day ; 
that by-gone page of life's history ; that tragedy, comedy it may 
be, which our little home company was enacting; that merry- 



LlTERARY Analysis. — 83-86. Ha! , , . dinner. What kind of sentence 
grammatically is the first ? The second ? The third .'' — From what poet is the 
exclamation "Angels and ministers of grace!" a partial quotation? — In what 
manner is the melodramatic effect of the passage worked up ? — Point out the 
anticlimax. 

88. coached. Explain the term. — Who was Goethe ? 

94. The dear shadows. Explain. 

95- It is, etc. What fignre of speech is exemplified in this sentence ? 

96, 97. raise up . . . ages. Express in other language. 

97, 98. our books are diaries. What is the figure of speech } 

106-110. It is . . . buried. Point out an example of antithesis. Of epizeuxis. 
— Point out the pathetic element. 



DE FINIBUS. 



537 



making which we shared \ that funeral which we followed ; that 
bitter, bitter grief which we buried. no 

4. And such being the state of my mind, I pray gentle readers 
to deal kindly with their humble servant's manifold short-com- 
ings, blunders, and slips of memory. As sure as I read a page 
of my own composition, I find a fault or two — half a dozen. 
Jones is called Brown. Brown, who is dead, is brought to life. 115 
Aghast, and months after the number was printed, I saw that I 
had called Philip Firmin, Clive Newcome. Now Clive Newcome 

is the hero of another story by the reader's most obedient 
writer. The two men are as different, in my mind's eye, as — as 
Lord Palmerston and Mr. Disraeli, let us say. But there is that 120 
blunder at page 990, line 76, volume Ixxxiv. of the Cornhill 
Magazine, and it is past mending ; and I wish in my life I had 
made no worse blunders or errors than that which is hereby 
acknowledged. 

5. Another Finis written; another milestone passed on this 125 
journey from birth to the next world ! Sure it is a subject for 
solemn cogitation. Shall we continue this story-telling business, 
and be voluble* to the end of our age ? Will it not be presently 
time, O prattler, to hold your tongue, and let younger people 
speak? I have a friend, a painter, who, like other persons who 130 
shall be nameless, is growing old. He has never painted with 
such laborious finish as his works now show. This master is 
still the most humble and diligent of scholars. Of Art, his mis- 
tress, he is always an eager, reverent pupil. In his calling, in 
yours, in mine, industry and humility will help and comfort us. 135 
A word with you. In a pretty large experience, I have not 
found the men who write books superior in wit or learning to 
those who don't write at all. In regard of mere information. 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 117. had called . . . Newcome. This was an instance 
of what has been called heterophemy. 

123. blunders or errors. Is there any distinction between these synonyms? 

125. written . . . passed. What is the effect of the omission of the auxiliary 
verb ? 

126. Sure. Used by enallage for what word? 

127. solemn cogitation. Substitute synonyms. 

131-134. He . . . pupil. Observe that the sarne thought is here thrice stated, 
but with skilful variation of language. 



538 THACKERAY. 

non-writers must often be superior to writers. You don't ex- 
pect a lawyer in full practice to be conversant with all kinds of 140 
literature, he is too busy with his law; and so a writer is com- 
monly too busy with his own books to be able to bestow atten- 
tion on the works of other people. After a day's work (in which 
I have been depicting, let us say, the agonies of Louisa on part- 
ing with the captain, or the atrocious behavior of the wicked 145 
marquis* to Lady Emily) I march to the Club, propose to im- 
prove my mind and keep myself " posted up," as the Americans 
phrase it, with the literature of the day. And what happens ? 
Given, a walk after luncheon, a pleasing book, and a most com- 
fortable arm-chair by the fire, and you know the rest. A doze 150 
ensues. Pleasing book drops suddenly, is picked up once with 
an air of some confusion, is laid presently softly in lap ; head 
falls on comfortable arm-chair cushion \ eyes close ; soft nasal 
music is heard. Am I telling Club secrets ? Of afternoons, 
after lunch, I say, scores of sensible fogies* have a doze. Per- iss 
haps I have fallen asleep over that very book to which " Finis " 
has just been written. And if the writer sleeps, what happens 
to the readers ? says Jones, coming down upon me with his 
lightning wit. What ! you did sleep over it ? And a very good 
thing too. These eyes have more than once seen a friend doz- 160 
ing over pages which this hand has written. There is a vignette* 
somewhere in one of my books of a friend so caught napping 
with Pendennis, or the Newcomes, in his lap ; and if a writer can 
give you a sweet, soothing, harmless sleep, has he not done you 
a kindness ? So is the author who excites and interests you 165 
worthy of your thanks and benedictions. I am troubled with 
fever and ague, that seizes me at odd intervals and prostrates 
me for a day. There is cold fit, for which, I am thankful to 
say, hot brandy-and-water is prescribed, and this induces hot fit, 
and so on. In one or two of these fits I have read novels with 17° 



Literary Analysis. — 147. "posted up." From what is this figurative ex- 
pression derived .' 

1 51-154. Pleasing book . . . heard. Note the omission of the article. What 
is the effect .^ 

154-165. Am I . . . kindness? The pupil should observe the admirable con- 
struction of these crisp sentences. 



DE FINIBUS. 



539 



the most fearful contentment of mind. Once, on the Mississip- 
pi, it was my dearly beloved yacoh Faithful ; once, at Frankfort 
O. M., the delightful Vingt Ans Apres of Monsieur Dumas ; 
once, at Tunbridge Wells, the thrilling Woman in White; and 
these books gave me amusement from morning till sunset. 1 175 
remember those ague-fits with a great deal of pleasure and grat- 
itude. Think of a whole day in bed, and a good novel for a 
companion ! No cares, no remorse about idleness, no visitors, 
and the Woman in White or the Chevalier d'Artagnan to tell 
n>e stories from dawn to night ! " Please, ma'am, my master's iSo 
compliments, and can he have the third volume ?" (This mes- 
sage was sent to an astonished friend and neighbor who lent me, 
volume by volume, the W. in W.) How do you like your nov- 
els ? I like mine strong, "hot with," and no mistake ; no love- 
making, no observations about society, little dialogue, except 185 
where the characters are bullying* each other, plenty of fighting, 
and a villain in the cupboard who is to suffer tortures just be- 
fore Finis. I don't like your melancholy Finis. I never read 
the history of a consumptive heroine twice. If I might give a 
short hint to an impartial writer (as the Examiner used to say 190 
in old days), it would be to act, not a la mode le pays de Pole 
(I think that was the phraseology), but always to give quar- 
ter. In the story of Philip, just come to an end, I have the 
permission of the author to state that he was going to drown 

the two villains of the piece — a certain Doctor F and a 195 

certain Mr. T. H on board the P?'esident, or some other 

tragic ship — but you see I relented. I pictured to myself 
Firmin's ghastly face amidst the crowd of shuddering people 
on that reeling deck in the lonely ocean, and thought, " Thou 
ghastly, lying wretch, thou shalt not be drowned ; thou shalt 200 
have a fever only ; a knowledge of thy danger ; and a chance 
— ever so small a chance — of repentance." I wonder whether 
he did repent when he found himself in the yellow fever in 
Virginia ? The probability is, he fancied that his son had in- 



LlTERARY Analysis. — 171. fearful contentment. Remark on this expres- 
sion. 

185. no observations, etc. Tlie point of this banter is, that Tliackeray is 
specially noted for the very qualities he represents himself as disliking. 



54° 



THACKERAY. 



jured him very much, and forgave him on his death-bed. Dozog 
you imagine there is a great deal of genuine right-down re- 
morse in the world? Don't people rather find excuses which 
make their minds easy — endeavor to prove to themselves that 
they have been lamentably belied and misunderstood — and try 
and forgive the persecutors who will present that bill when it 210 
is due, and not bear malice against the cruel ruffian* who takes 
them to the police-office for stealing the spoons ? Years ago I 
had a quarrel with a certain well-known person (I believed a 
statement regarding him which his friends imparted to me, and 
which turned out to be quite incorrect). To his dying day, that 215 
quarrel was never quite made up. I said to his brother, " Why 
is your brother's soul still dark against me ? It is I who ought 
to be angry and unforgiving, for I was in the wrong." In the 
region which they now inhabit (for Finis has been set to the 
volumes of the lives of both here below), if they take any cogni- 220 
zance of our squabbles and tittle-tattles and gossips on earth 
here, I hope they admit that my little error was not of a nature 
unpardonable. If you have never committed a worse, my good 
sir, surely the score against you will not be heavy. Ha, dilectissi- 
mi fr aires ! It is in regard of sins not found out that we may 225 
say or sing (in an undertone, in a most penitent and lugubrious 
minor key), Miserei'e nobis miseris peccatorihiis. 

6. Among the sins of commission which novel-writers not sel- 
dom perpetrate is the sin of grandiloquence,* or tall -talking, 
against which, for my part, I will offer up a special libera me. 230 
This is the sin of schoolmasters, governesses, critics, sermoners, 
and instructors of young or old people. Nay (for I am making 
a clean breast, and liberating my soul), perhaps of all the novel- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 207-212. Don't people ... spoons ? A touch of 
Thackeray's well-known cynical view of human nature. Remark on the 
terms "persecutors" and "cruel ruffian" as here employed. 

217, 218. It is I • . . Tvrong. What is the process of cynical reasoning here 
implied ? 

224, 225. dilectissimi fr.atres ! beloved brothers. 

227. Miserere, etc. Have mercy on us miserable sinners. 

229. grandiloquence, or tall-talking. This is a happy example of defining a 
lofty by a common term. 

230. libera me, deliver me. 



DE FINIBUS. 



541 



spinners now extant, the present speaker is the most addicted 
to preaching. Does lie not stop perpetually in his story and 233 
begin to preach to you ? When he ought to be engaged with 
business, is he not forever taking the Muse by the sleeve and 
plaguing her with some of his cynical sermons ? I cry peccavi 
loudly and heartily. I tell you I would like to be able to write 
a story which should show no egotism whatever — in which there 240 
should be no reflections, no cynicism, no vulgarity (and so forth), 
but an incident in every other page, a villain, a battle, a mystery 
in every chapter. I should like to be able to feed a reader so 
spicily as to leave him hungering and thirsting for more at the 
end of every monthly meal. 245 

7. Alexandre Dumas describes himself, when inventing the 
plan of a work, as lying silent on his back for two whole days 
on the deck of a yacht in a Mediterranean port. At the end of 
the two days he arose and called for dinner. In those two days 
he had built his plot. He had moulded a mighty clay, to be cast 25° 
presently in perennial"^ brass. The chapters, the characters, the 
incidents, the combinations, were all arranged in the artist's brain 
ere he set a pen to paper. My Pegasus* won't fly, so as to let 
me survey the field below me. He has no wings ; he is blind of 
one eye certainly ; he is restive, stubborn, slow ; crops a hedge 25; 
when he ought to be galloping, or gallops when he ought to be 
quiet. He never will show off when I want him. Sometimes he 
goes at a pace which surprises me. Sometimes, when I most 
wish him to make the running, the brute turns restive, and I am 
obliged to let him take his own time. I wonder do other novel- 260 
writers experience this fatalism ? They must go a certain way, 
in spite of themselves. I have been surprised at the observa- 
tions made by some of my characters. It seems as if an occult 
Power was moving the pen. The personage does or says some- 
thing, and I ask. How the dickens* did he come to think of that ? 265 



Literary Analysis. — 237. business. Explain the term as here used. 

237. taking: . . . sleeve. What is meant by this expression } 

238. peccavi, I have sinned. 

239. would lilse. Compare with "should like" in line 243 : which is cor- 
rect .'' 

250. built his plot. On what is the figure founded.'' 
253. Pegasus. Explain. 



542 



THACKERAY. 



Every man has remarked in dreams the vast dramatic power 
which is sometimes evinced — I won't say the surprising power 
— for nothing does surprise you in dreams. But those strange 
cliaracters you meet make instant observations of which you 
never can have thouglit previously. In like manner, the imag-270 
ination foretells things. We spake anon* of the inflated style of 
some writers. What, also, if there is an afflated style, when a 
writer is like a Pythoness on her oracle tripod,* and mighty 
words — words which he cannot help — come blowing and bel- 
lowing and whistling and moaning through the speaking-pipes 27s 
of his bodily organ ? I have told you it was a very queer shock 
to me the other day when, with a letter of introduction in his 
hand, the artist's (not my) Philip Firmin walked into this room 
and sat down in the chair opposite. In the novel of Pendennis., 
written ten years ago, there is an account of a certain Costigan, 280 
whom I had invented (as I suppose authors invent their person- 
ages out of scraps, heel-taps, odds and ends of characters). I 
was smoking in a tavern parlor one night, and this Costigan 
came into the room alive — the very man — the most remarkable 
resemblance of the printed sketches of the man, of the rude 285 
drawings in which I had depicted him. He had the same lit- 
tle coat, the same battered hat cocked on one eye, the same 
twinkleun that eye. "Sir," said I, knowing him to be an old 
friend whom I had met in unknown regions — "sir," I said, " may 
I offer you a glass of brandy-and-water ?" — '■^ Bedad ye jnay,'" 2^0 
says he, " and Idl sing you a song Ui.y Of course he spoke 
with an Irish brogue. Of course he had been in the army. In 
ten minutes he pulled out an army agent's account, whereon 
his name was written. A few months after we read of him in 
a police court. How had I come to know him, to divine him ? 295 
Nothing shall convince me that I have not seen that man in the 
world of spirits. In the world of spirits-and-water I know I did; 
but that is a mere quibble of words. I was not surprised when 



I^iTERARY Analysis. — 271. spake. Remark on the form. 

272. affliited. This is a word of Thackeray's own coinage. It is derived 
from Lat. afflatus, inspiration. 

272-276. AVliat . . . organ? The sentence suggests by its very structure the 
thought which the author is expressing. 



DE FINIBUS. 



543 



he spoke in an Irish brogue. I had had cognizance of him be- 
fore, someliow. Who has not felt that little shock which arises 300 
when a person, a place, some words in a book (there is always a 
collocation) present themselves to you, and you know that you 
have before met the same person, words, scene, and so forth ? 

8. They used to call the good Sir Walter the " Wizard of the 
North." What if some writer should appear who -can write so 30s 
enchantingly that he shall be able to call into actual life the 
people whom he invents ? What if Mignon and Margaret and 
Goetz von Berlichingen are alive now (though I don't say they 
are visible), and Dugald Dalgetty and Ivanhoe were to step in 

at that open window by the little garden yonder .'' Suppose Un- 310 
cas and our noble old Leatherstocking were to glide, silent, in ? 
Suppose Athos, Porthos, and Aramis should enter with a noise- 
less swagger, curling their mustaches ? And dearest Amelia 
Booth, on Uncle Toby's arm. Tittlebat Titmouse, with his hair 
dyed green, and all the Crummies company of comedians, with 315 
the Gil Bias troop, and Sir Roger de Coverley, and the greatest 
of all crazy gentlemen, the Knight of La Mancha, with his 
blessed squire ? I say to you, I look rather wistfully towards 
the window, musing upon these people. Were any of them to 
enter, I think I should not be very much frightened. Dear old 320 
friends, what pleasant hours I have had with them ! We do not 
see each other very often, but when we do we are ever happy to 
meet. I had a capital half hour with Jacob Faithful last night 
— when the last sheet was corrected, when " Finis " had been 
written, and the printer's boy, with the copy, was safe in Green 32s 
Arbor Court. 

9. So you are gone, little printer's boy, with the last scratches 
and corrections on the proof, and a fine flourish by way of Finis 
at the story's end. The last corrections .? I say those last cor- 
rections seem never to be finished. A plague upon the weeds ! 330 
Every day, when I walk in my own little literary garden-plot, I 
spy some, and should like to have a spud* and root them out. 
Those idle words, neighbor, are past remedy. That turning 



Literary Analysis. — 304-326. The pupil should name the books in which 
the several characters mentioned in this paragraph occur. 



544 



THACKERAY. 



back to the old pages produces anything but elation of mind. 
Would you not pay a pretty fine to be able to cancel some of 335 
them ? Oh, the sad old pages, the dull old pages ! Oh, the 
cares, the eiinui, the squabbles, the repetitions, the old conver- 
sations over and over again ! But now and again a kind 
thought is recalled, and now and again a dear memory. Yet 
a few chapters more, and then the last : after which, behold 340 
Finis itself come to an end, and the Infinite besfun. 



XXXVII. 

CHARLES DICKENS. 

1812-1869. 






CHARACTERIZATION BY E. P. V^HIPPLE. 

I. Dickens, as a novelist and prose poet, is to be classed in the 
front rank of the noble company to which he belongs. He has 
revived the novel of genuine practical life, as it existed in the 

35 



546 



DICKENS. 



works of Fielding, Smollett, and Goldsmith ; but, at the same 
time, has given to his materials an individual coloring and ex- 
pression peculiarly his own. His characters, like those of his 
great examplars, constitute a world of their own, whose truth to 
nature every reader instinctively recognizes in connection with 
their truth to Dickens. Fielding delineates with more exquisite 
art, standing more as the spectator of his personages, and com- 
menting on their actions with an ironical humor and a seeming 
innocence of insight which pierces not only into, but through, 
their very nature, laying bare their inmost unconscious springs 
of action, and ill every instance indicating that he understands 
them better than they understand themselves. It is this per- 
fection of knowledge and insight which gives to his novels their 
naturalness, their freedom of movement, and their value as les- 
sons in human nature as well as consummate representations of 
actual life. Dickens's eye for forms of things is as accurate as 
Fielding's, and his range of vision more extended; but he does 
not probe so profoundly into the heart of what he sees, and he 
is more led away from the simplicity of truth by a tricksy spirit 
of fantastic exaggeration. Mentally, he is indisputably below 
Fielding ; but in tenderness, in pathos, in sweetness and purity 
of feeling, in that comprehensiveness of sympathy which springs 
from a sense of brotherhood with mankind, he is indisputably 
above him. . . . 

2. In representing life and character, there are two character- 
istics of his genius which startle every reader by their obvious- 
ness and power — his humor and pathos ; but in respect to the 
operation of those qualities in his delineations, critics have some- 
times objected that his humor is apt to run into fantastic exag- 
geration, and his pathos into sentimental excess. Indeed, in re- 
gard to his humorous characters, it may be said that the vivid 
intensity with which he conceives them, and the overflowing 
abundance of joy and merriment which spring instinctively up 
from the very foundations of his being at the slightest point of 
the ludicrous, sometimes lead him to the very verge of caricature. 
He seems himself to be taken by surprise as his glad and genial 
fancies throng into his brain, and to laugh and exult with the 
beings he has called into existence in the spirit of a man observ- 
ing, not creating. Squeers and Pecksniff, Simon Tappertit and 



WHIPPLE'S CHARACTERIZATION OF DICKENS. 



547 



Mark Tapley, Tony Weller and old John Willet, although painted 
with such distinctness that we seem to see them with the bodily 
eye, we still feel to be somewhat overcharged in the description. 
They are caricatured more in appearance than reality, and if 
grotesque in form, are true and natural at heart. Such carica- 
ture as this is to character what epigram is to fact — a mode of 
conveying truth more distinctly by suggesting it through a brill- 
iant exaggeration. 

3. Much of the humor of Dickens is identical with his style. 
In this the affluence of his fancy in suggestive phrases and epi- 
thets is finely displayed ; and he often flashes the impression of 
a character or a scene upon the mind by a few graphic verbal 
combinations. When Ralph Nickleby says "God bless you" 
to his nephew, the words stick in his throat, as if unused to the 
passage. When Tigg clasped Mr. Pecksniff in the dark, that 
worthy gentleman " found himself collared by something which 
smelt like several damp umbrellas, a barrel of beer, a cask of 
warm brandy-and-water, and a small parlorful of tobacco-smoke, 
mixed." Mrs. Todgers, when she desires to make Ruth Pinch 
know her station, surveys her with a look of "genteel grimness." 
A widow of a deceased brother of Martin Chuzzlewit is described 
as one who, " being almost supernaturally disagreeable, and hav- 
ing a dreary face, a bony figure, and a masculine voice, was, in 
right of these qualities, called a strong-minded woman." Mr. 
Richard Swiveller no sooner enters a room than the nostrils of 
the company are saluted by a strong smell of gin and lemon- 
peel. Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit, a person who overfed himself, is 
sketched as a gentleman with such an obvious disposition to 
pimples that " the bright spots on his cravat, the rich pattern 
of his waistcoat, and even his glittering trinkets seemed to have 
broken out upon him, and not to have come into existence com- 
fortably." Felicities like these Dickens squanders with a prodi- 
gality which reduces their relative value, and makes the general- 
ity of style-mongers poor indeed. 

4. It is difficult to say whether Dickens is more successful in 
humor or pathos. Many prefer his serious to his comic scenes. 
It is certain that his genius can as readily draw tears as provoke 
laughter. Sorrow, want, poverty, pain, and death, the affections 
which cling to earth and those which rise above it, he represents 



^48 DICKENS. 

always with power, and often with marvellous skill. His style, 
in the serious moods of his mind, has a harmony of flow which 
often glides unconsciously into metrical arrangement, and is full 
of those words 

" Which fall as soft as snow on the sea, 
And melt in the heart as instantly." 

One source of his pathos is the intense and purified concep- 
tion he has of moral beauty — of that beauty which comes from a 
thoughtful brooding over the most solemn and affecting realities 
of life. The character of little Nell is an illustration. The sim- 
plicity of this creation, framed, as it is, from the finest elements 
of human nature, and the unambitious mode of its development 
through the motley scenes of the Old Ctiriosity Shop, are calcu- 
lated to make us overlook its rare merit as a work of high po- 
etic genius. Amidst the wolfish malignity of Quilp, the sugared 
meanness of Brass, the roaring conviviality of Swiveller, amidst 
scenes of selfishness and shame, of passion and crime, this deli- 
cate creation moves along, unsullied, purified, pursuing the good 
in the simple earnestness of a pure heart, gliding to the tomb as 
to a sweet sleep, and leaving in every place that her presence 
beautifies the marks of celestial footprints. Sorrows such as 
hers, over which so fine a sentiment sheds its consecrations, 
have been well said to be ill bartered for the garishness of joy ; 
"for they win us softly from life, and fit us to die smiling." 

5. In addition to this refined perception of moral beauty, he 
has great tragic power. It would be useless, in our limits, to at- 
tempt giving illustrations of his closeness to nature in deline- 
ating the deeper passions ; his profound observation of the work- 
ings of the soul when stained with crime and looking forward to 
death; his skill in gifting remorse, fear, avarice, hatred, and re- 
venge with their appropriate language ; and his subtle apprecia- 
tion of the influence exercised by different moods of the mind in 
modifying the appearances of external objects. In these the 
poet always appears through the novelist, and we hardly know 
whether imagination or observation contributes most to the ef- 
fect. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. c^q 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
STAVB- ONE.— MARLEY'S GHOST. 

Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever 
about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergy- 
man, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge 
.signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change for any- 
thing he chose to put his hand to. s 

Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. 

Scrooge knew he was dead ? Of course he did. How could 
it be otherwise ? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know 
how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole ad- 
ministrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole lo 
friend, his sole mourner. 

Scrooge never painted out old Marley's name, however. There 
it yet stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse door — 
Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as Scrooge and Mar- 
ley. Sometimes people new to the business called Scrooge 15 
Scrooge, and sometimes Marley. He answered to both names. 
It was all the same to him. 

Oh, but he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, was 
Scrooge ! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, 
covetous old sinner ! External heat and cold had little influence 20 
on him. No warmth could warm, no cold could chill him. No 



Literary Analysis. — 1-6. Marley . , , door-nail. What one statement is 
made in these two paragraphs ? What is the statement as expressed in the 
second paragraph? Show how this is led up to, and what means are em- 
ployed to emphasize the statement. 

9, ID. executor . . . legatee. Explain the terms "executor," "administrator," 
" assign," " legatee." What is the effect of the repetition of the word 
"sole .'■" 

15, 16. called Scrooge Scrooge. What is the grammatical construction of the 
word " Scrooge " in these two uses 'i (See Swinton's AVw English Gra7nmar, 
p. 169, Special Rule iii.) 

i8-20.-01i • . . sinner! What is peculiar in the construction of this sen- 
tence ? What is the figure of speech .'' — Grammatical construction of " sin- 
ner?" What is the figure in "sinner?" (See Def 29.) What epithets are 
applied to " Scrooge ?" What is the effect of their accumulation ? 

21-27. No wind . . . did. Point out the similes ; tlie personifications. Show 
the play of words in the last part of the paragraph. 



55° 



DICKENS. 



wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more 
intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. 
Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest 
rain and snow and hail and sleet could toast of the advantage 25 
over him in only one respect — they often "came down" hand- 
somely, and Scrooge never did. 

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome 
looks, " My dear Scrooge, how are you ? When will you come 
to see me ?" No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle ; no 3° 
children asked him what it was o'clock • no man or woman ever 
once, in all his life, inquired the way to such and such a place, of 
Scrooge. Even the blindmen's dogs appeared to know him ; 
and, when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into 
doorways and up courts ; and then would wag their tails as 35 
though they said, " No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark 
master !" 

But what did Scrooge care ! It was the very thing he liked. 
To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all hu- 
man sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones 40 
call "nuts" to Scrooge. 

Once upon a time — of all the good days in the year, upon a 
Christmas-eve — old Scrooge sat busy in his counting-house. It 
was cold, bleak, biting, foggy weather ; and the city clocks had 
only just gone three, but it was quite dark already. 4S 

The door of Scrooge's counting-house was open, that he might 
keep his eye upon his clerk, who, in a dismal little cell beyond, 
a sort of tank, was copying letters. Scrooge had a veiy small 
fire, but the clerk's fire was so very much smaller that it looked 
like one coal. But he couldn't replenish it, for Scrooge kept the 50 
coal-box in his own room ; and so surely as the clerk came in 
with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary 
for them to part. Wherefore the clerk put on his white comfort- 



LiTERARY Analysis.— 28-37. Nobody . . . master! Summarize in your own 
words the forbidding traits of Scrooge. What masterly touch most distinctly 
reveals his nature ? 

39, 40. warning . . . distance. Explain. 

42, 43. Once . . . counting-house. Analyze this sentence. 

46-55. The door. . .failed. What kind of clause is "that he might," etc' 
— Point out any drolleries in this paragraph. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



SS^ 



er, and tried to warm himself at the candle ; in which effort, not 
being a man of a strong imagination, he failed. 55 

" A merry Christmas,* uncle ! God save you !" cried a cheer- 
ful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon 
him so quickly that this was the first intimation Scrooge had of 
his approach. 

" Bah !" said Scrooge ; " humbug !" 60 

" Christmas a humbug, uncle ! You don't mean that, I am 
sure?" 

" I do. Out upon merry Christmas ! What's Christmas time 
to you but a time for paying bills without money ; a time for 
finding yourself a year older, and not an hour richer ; a time for 65 
balancing your books and having every item in 'em through a 
round dozen of months presented dead against you? If I had 
my will, every idiot who goes about with ' Merry Christmas' on 
his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with 
a stake of holly through his heart. He should !" 70 

"Uncle!" 

" Nephew, keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep 
it in mine." 

" Keep it ! But you don't keep it." 

" Let me leave it alone, then. Much good may it do you ! 75 
Much good it has ever done you !" 

" There are many things from which I might have derived good, 
by which I have not profited, I dare say, Christmas among the 
rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, 
when it has come round — apart from the veneration due to its 80 
sacred origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that 
— as a good time ; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time ; 
the only time I know of, in the long calendar* of the year, when 
men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts 
freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were ss 
fellow-travellers to the grave, and not another race of creatures 



Literary Analysis. — 56-59. Derivation of " Christmas .'" — Wiiat is the 
figure of speech in the word "voice?" 

75. Much good. What of the order of words .'' 

84. to open their shut-up hearts. What is the figure of speech ? 

86. fellow-trarellers to tlie grave. What is the figure of speech ? 



cr2 DICKENS. 

bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has 
never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that 
it has done me good, and will do me good ; and I say, God 
bless it !" 9° 

The clerk in the tank involuntarily applauded. 

" Let me hear another sound from yoit,^'' said Scrooge, " and 
you'll keep your Christmas by losing your situation ! You're 
quite a powerful speaker, sir," he added, turning to his nephew. 
" I wonder you don't go into Parliament." gs 

" Don't be angry, uncle. Come ! Dine with us to-morrow." 

Scrooge said that he would see him — yes, indeed he did. He 
went the whole length of the expression, and said that he would 
see him in that extremity first. 

" But why ?" cried Scrooge's nephew. " Why ?" loo 

" Why did you get married ?" 

"Because I fell in love." 

" Because you fell in love !" growled Scrooge, as if that were 
the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry 
Christmas. "Good-afternoon!" 105 

" Nay, uncle, but you never came to see me before that hap- 
pened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now .?" 

" Good-afternoon 1" 

" I want nothing from you ; I ask nothing of you ; why cannot 
we be friends ?" no 

" Good-afternoon !" 

" I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We 
have never had any quarrel to which I have been a party. But 
I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I'll keep my 
Christmas humor to the last. So a merry Christmas, uncle!" 115 

" Good-afternoon !" 

"And a happy New Year!" 

"Good-afternoon !" 

His nephew left the room without an angry w^ord, nothwith- 
standing. The clerk, in letting Scrooge's nephew out, had let 120 



Literary Analysis. — 92-95. Let . . . Parliament. Point out the example 
of oxymoron. (See Def. 18, i.) Point out the example of irony. 

97. see him— yes, indeed he did. What is the figure of speech? (See Def. 
38.) 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



553 



two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to 
behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Scrooge's office. 
They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to him. 

" Scrooge and Marley's, I believe," said one of the gentlemen, 
referring to his list. " Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. 125 
Scrooge or Mr. Marley ?" 

" Mr. Marley has been dead these seven years. He died seven 
years ago, this very night." 

" At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the 
gentleman, taking up a pen, " it is more than usually desirable 130 
that we should' make some slight provision for the- poor and des- 
titute, who suffer' greatly at the present time. Many thousands 
are in want of common necessaries ; hundreds of thousands are 
in want of common comforts, sir." 

"Are there no prisons ?" 135 

" Plenty of prisons. But, under the impression that they scarce- 
ly furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the unoffending 
multitude, a few of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the 
jDoor some meat and drink and means of warmth. We choose 
this time, because it is a time, of all others, when want is keenly 140 
felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for.?" 

" Nothing !" 

" You wish to be anonymous ?""* 

" I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me what I wish, gen- 
tlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christ- 145 
mas, and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to 
support the prisons and the workhouses — they cost enough — and 
those who are badly off must go there." 

" Many can't go there ; and many would rather die." 

" If they would rather die, they had better do it, and decrease 150 
the surplus* population." 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 121, 122. They were . . . office. Analyze this sen- 
tence. 

127, 128. scTen years. State the grammatical constniction of "years" in 
both its uses. 

136. Plenty of prisons. Supply the ellipsis. 

141. Abundance. What is the figure of speech ? 

143. anonymous? Derivation? 

146. people merry. Grammatical construction? 



554 



DICKENS. 



At length the hour of shutting up the counting-house arrived. 
With an ill-will, Scrooge, dismounting from his stool, tacitly ad- 
mitted the fact to the expectant clerk in the tank, who instantly 
snuffed his candle out and put on his hat. iss 

"You'll want all day to-morrow, I suppose.'"' 

" If quite convenient, sir." 

" It's not convenient, and it's not fair. If I was to stop half- 
a-crown for it, you'd think yourself mightily ill used, I'll be 
bound ?" i6o 

"Yes, sir." 

" And yet you don't think me ill used when I pay a day's wages 
for no work." 

" It's only once a year, sir." 

" A poor excuse for picking a man's pocket every twenty-fifth 165 
of December ! But I suppose you must have the whole day. 
Be here all the earlier next morning." 

The clerk promised that he would ; and Scrooge walked out 
with a growl. The office was closed in a twinkling, and the 
clerk, with the long ends of his white comforter dangling below 17° 
his waist (for he boasted no great-coat), went down a slide, at 
the end of a lane of boys, twenty times, in honor of its being 
Christmas-eve. and then ran home as hard as he could pelt, to 
play at blindman's-buff. 

Scrooge took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy 175 
tavern ; and, having read all the newspapers, and beguiled the 
rest of the evening with his banker's book, went home to bed. 
He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased 
partner. They were a gloomy suite of rooms, in a lowering pile 
of building, up a yard. The building was old enough now, and iSo 
dreary enough ; for nobody lived in it but Scrooge, the other 
rooms being all let out as offices. 

Now, it is a fact that there was nothing particular at all about 
the knocker on the door of this house, except that it was very 



Literary Analysis. — 171. boasted no great-coat. Express in other words. 

175-182. Scrooge ... oflfices. Point out examples of transferred epithet. 
(See Def. 32.) Point out an example of irony. 

183-188. Now ... London. What kind of sentence grammatically? How- 
might this sentence be changed by the style coupe? (See Def. 57, ii.) 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



SSS 



large; also, that Scrooge had seen it, night and morning, during 185 
his whole residence in that place ; also, that Scrooge had as little 
of what is called fancy about him as any man in the city of Lon- 
don. And yet Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, 
saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate 
process of change, not a knocker, but Marley's face. 19° 

Marley's face, with a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster 
in a dark cellar. It was not angry or ferocious, but it looked at 
Scrooge as Marley used to look — with ghostly spectacles turned 
up upon its ghostly forehead. 

As Scrooge looked fixedly at this phenomenon, it was a knock- 195 
er again. He said, " Pooh, pooh !" and closed the door with a 
bang. 

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every 
room above, and every cask in the wine-merchant's cellars below, 
appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge 200 
was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door, 
and walked across the hall and up the stairs. Slowly too, trim- 
ming his candle as he went. 

Up Scrooge went, not caring a button for its being veiy dark. 
Darkness is cheap, and Scrooge liked it. But before he shut 205 
his heavy door, he walked through his rooms to see that all was 
right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to 
do that. 

Sitting-room, bedroom, lumber-room, all as they should be. 
Nobody under the table, nobody under the sofa; a small fire in 210 
the grate ; spoon and basin ready ; and the little saucepan of 
gruel (Scrooge had a cold in his head) upon the hob. Nobody 
under the bed; nobody in the closet; nobody in his dressing- 
gown, which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the 



Literary Analysis. — 188-190. And . . . face. What kind of sentence 
rhetorically ? 

191, 192. Marley's . . . cellar. Observe the abrupt construction. Place the 
sentence in its grammatical relation. — Explain the simile. 

198. sound resounded. Remark on the collocation of words. 

204. caring a button. Grammatical construction .? 

209-216. Sitting-room . . . poker. What device is employed to give an ab- 
rupt, staccato effect to this paragraph .' 



556 



DICKENS. 



wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard, old shoes, two 215 
fish-baskets, washing-stand on three legs, and a poker. 

Quite satisfied, he closed his door, and locked himself in; 
double-locked himself in, which was not his custom. Thus se- 
cured against surprise, he took off his cravat, put on his dress- 
ing-gown and slippers and his nightcap, and sat down before the 220 
very low fire to take his gruel. 

As he threw his head back in the chair, his glance happened 
to rest upon a bell, a disused bell, that hung in the room, and 
communicated, for some purpose now forgotten, with a chamber 
in the highest story of the building. It was with great astonish- 225 
ment, and with a strange, inexplicable dread, that, as he looked, 
he saw this bell begin to swing. Soon it rang out loudly, and so 
did every bell in the house. 

This was succeeded by a clanking noise, deep down below, as 
if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in 230 
the wine-merchant's cellar. 

Then he heard the noise much louder on the floors below ; 
then coming up the stairs ; then coming straight towards his 
door. 

It came on through the heavy door, and a spectre* passed into 23s 
the room before his eyes. And upon its coming in, the dying 
flame leaped up, as though it cried, " I know him ! Marley's 
ghost !" 

The same face, the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual 
waistcoat, tights, and boots. His body was transparent ; so 240 
that Scrooge, observing him, and looking through his waistcoat, 
could see the two buttons on his coat behind. 

Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels, 
but he had never believed it until now. 

No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the 24s 
phantom through and through, and saw it standing before him — 
though he felt the chilling influence of its death-cold eyes, and 
noticed the very texture of the folded kerchief bound about its 
head and chin — he was still incredulous. 



Literary Analysis.— 239-242. Supply the ellipses. What striking fancy 
in this paragraph ? 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



557 



"How now !" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What 250 
do you want with me ?" 

" Much !" — Marley's voice, no doubt about it. 

"Who are you?" 

"Ask me who I wasT 

" Who were you, then ?" 255 

" In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley." 

" Can you — can you sit down ?" 

" I can." 

" Do it, then." 

Scrooge asked the question, because he didn't know whether 260 
a ghost so transparent might find himself in a condition to take 
a chair ; and felt that, in the event of its being impossible, it might 
involve the necessity of an embarrassing explanation. But the 
ghost sat down on the opposite side of the fireplace, as if he were 
quite used to it. 265 

"You don't believe in me." 

" I don't." 

" What evidence would you have of my reality beyond that of 
your senses ?" 

" I don't know." 270 

" Why do you doubt your senses ?" 

" Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the 
stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of 
beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an un- 
derdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, 275 
whatever you are !" 

Scrooge was not much in the habit of cracking jokes, nor did 
he feel in his heart by any means waggish then. The truth is 
that he tried to be smart, as a means of distracting his own at- 
tention and keeping down his horror. 2S0 

But how much greater was his horror when, the phantom tak- 
ing off the bandage round its head, as if it were too warm to wear 
in-doors, its lower jaw dropped down upon its breast ! 



Literary Analysis. — 262, 263. Substitute synonyms for the following 
italicized words: "in the event of its being impossible, it might involve the ne- 
cessity of an embarrassing explanation.'''' 

275. Point out the pun, and say what you think of it. 

282. its head. What is the effect of the use of the neuter pronoun ? 



558 



DICKENS. 



" Mercy ! Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble me ? Why 
do spirits walk the earthy and why do they come to me ?" 285 

" It is required of every man that the spirit within him should 
walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide ; and 
if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after 
death. I cannot tell you all I would. A very little more is per- 
mitted to me. I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger any- 290 
where. My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house — 
mark me ! — in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow lim- 
its of our money-changing hole ; and weary journeys lie before 
me !" 

" Seven years dead. And travelling all the time? You travel 295 
fast ?" 

" On the wings of the wind." 

" You might have got over a great quantity of ground in seven 
years." 

" O blind man, blind man ! not to know that ages of incessant 300 
labor by immortal creatures for this earth must pass into eter- 
nity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed. 
Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little 
sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal * life too short for 
its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of re- 30s 
gret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused ! Yet' 
I was like this man ; I once was like this man !" 

" But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," falter- 
ed Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself. 

" Business !" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. " Man- 31° 
kind was my business. The common welfare was my business ; 
charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence, were all my business. 
The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the com- 
prehensive ocean of my business !" 

Scrooge was very much dismayed to hear the spectre going on 315 
at this rate, and began to quake exceedingly. 



Literary Analysis. — 284. appsirition. What synonymous word is used in 
the previous paragraph .-' 
290. Point out the synonyms. Why are the three expressions employed? 
300-306. . . . misused! What kind of sentences grammatically? 
313. were but a drop, etc. What is the figure of speech ? 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



559 



" Hear me ! My time is nearly gone." 

" I will. But don't be hard upon me ! Don't be flowery, 
Jacob ! Pray !" 

" I am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance 320 
and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my pro- 
curing, Ebenezer." 

" You were always a good friend to me. Thank'ee !" 

"You will be haunted by Three Spirits." 

" Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob ? I — 1 325 
think I'd rather not." 

".Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I 
tread. Expect the first to-morrow night, when the bell tolls One. 
Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The 
third, upon the next night, when the last stroke of Twelve has 33° 
ceased to vibrate. Look to see me no more ; and look that, for 
your own sake, you remember what has passed between us !" 

It walked backward from him ; and, at every step it took, the 
window^ raised itself a little ; so that when the apparition reached 
it it was wide open. 33s 

Scrooge closed the window, and examined the door by which 
the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as he had locked 
it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. Scrooge 
tried to say " Humbug !" but stopped at the first S3'-llable. And 
being, from the emotion he had undergone, or the fatigues of the 34° 
day, or his glimpse of the invisible world, or the dull conversa- 
tion of the Ghost, or the lateness of the hour, much in need of re- 
pose, he went straight to bed, without undressing, and fell asleep 
on the instant. 

^ * * * * * 

[Stave Two, the " Ghost of Christmas Past," in which the experiences of 
Scrooge's youth are recalled, is omitted.] 



Literary Analysis. — 318. Don't be flowery. Remark on the adjective. 
321. procuring. What part of speech ? 

333-335. It . . . open. Reconstruct so as to avoid ambiguity in the use of 
the pronoun "it." 



56o 



DICKENS. 



STAVE THREE.— THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT. 

Scrooge awoke in his own bedroom. There was no doubt 345 
about that. But it and his own adjoining sitting-room, into which 
he shuffled in his slippers, attracted by a great light there, had 
undergone a surprising transformation. The walls and ceiling 
were so hung with living green that it looked a perfect grove. 
The leaves of holly, mistletoe, and ivy reflected back the light, 35° 
as if so many little mirrors had been scattered there ; and such 
a mighty blaze went roaring up the chimney as that petrifaction* 
of a hearth had never known in Scrooge's time, or Marley's, or 
for many and many a winter season gone. Heaped upon the 
floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, brawn, 355 
great joints of meat, sucking pigs, long wreaths of sausages, 
mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, 
cherry -cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense 
twelfth-cakes, and great bowls of punch. In easy state upon this 
couch there sat a Giant glorious to see ; who bore a glowing 360 
torch, in shape not unlike Plenty's horn, and who raised it high 
to shed its light on Scrooge, as he came peeping round the door. 

" Come in — come in ! and know me better, man ! I am the 
Ghost of Christmas Present. Look upon me ! You have never 
seen the like of me before !" 365 

" Never." 

" Have never walked forth with the younger members of my 
family ; meaning (for I am very young) my elder brothers born 
in these later years ?" pursued the Phantom. 

" I don't think I have, I am afraid I have not. Have you had 370 
man)^ brothers. Spirit V 

" More than eighteen hundred." 

" A tremendous family to provide for ! Spirit, conduct me 
where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I 
learned a lesson which is working now. To-night, if you have 37s 
aught to teach me, let me profit by it." 

" Touch my robe !" 



Literary Analysis.— 347. attracted ... there. To what word is this an 
adjunct? 

350. reflected back. Query as to this expression. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 561 

Scrooge did as he was told, and held it fast. 

The room and its contents all vanished instantly, and they 
stood in the city streets upon a snowy Christmas morning. 380 

Scrooge and the Ghost passed on, invisible, straight to 
Scrooge's clerk's ; and on the threshold' of the door the Spirit 
smiled, and stopped to bless Bob Cratchit's dwelling with the 
sprinklings of his torch. Think of that ! Bob had but fifteen 
" bob " a week himself ; he pocketed on Saturdays but fifteen 3S5 
copies of his Christian-name ; and yet the Ghost of Christmas 
Present blessed his four-roomed house ! 

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but 
poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are 
cheap and make a goodly show for sixpence ; and she laid the 390 
cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also 
brave in ribbons ; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork 
into the saucepan of potatoes, and, getting the corners of his 
monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon 
his son and heir in honor of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to 395 
find himself so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen 
in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy 
and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they 
had smelt the goose, and known it for their own ; and, basking 
in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, these young Cratchits 400 
danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the 
skies, while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked 
him) blew the fire, until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked 
loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled. 

" What has ever got your precious father then ?" said Mrs. 405 
Cratchit. " And your brother Tiny Tim ! And Martha warn't as 
late last Christmas-day by half an hour !" 

" Here's Martha, mother !" said a girl, appearing as she spoke. 

" Here's Martha, mother !" cried the two young Cratchits. 
" Hurrah ! There's such a goose, Martha !'' 410 

" Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are !" said 



Literary Analysis. — 384,385. fifteen bob = fifteen shillings. 

388. Then up, etc. Why is the inverted order used here } 

389. brave. Meaning here ? 

403, 404. knocked, etc. What is the figure of speech t 

z6 



562 DICKENS. 

Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl 
and bonnet for her. 

"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, 
" and had to clear away this morning, mother !" 41s 

"Well! Never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs. 
Cratchit. " Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a 
warm. Lord bless ye !" 

" No, no ! There's father coming," cried the two young 
Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. " Hide, Martha, hide !" 420 

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with 
at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe, hanging 
down before him ; and his threadbare clothes darned up and 
brushed, to look seasonable ; and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. 
Alas for Tiny Tim ! he bore a little crutch, and had his limbs 425 
supported by an iron frame. 

"Why, Where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking 
round. 

" Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit. 

" Not coming !" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high 430 
spirits; for he had been Tim's blood-horse all the way from 
church, and had come home rampant — " not coming upon Christ- 
mas-day !" 

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in 
joke ; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, 435 
and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled 
Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might 
hear the pudding singing in the copper. 

" And how did little Tim behave ?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when 
she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his 440 
daughter to his heart's content. 

" As good as gold," said Bob, " and better. Somehow he gets 
thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest 
things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped 
the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and 445 



Literary Analysis. — 425, 426. Would the statement have been as pa- 
thetic had the lameness been directly asserted ? 

432. rampant. Point out the fitness of the term here. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



563 



it might be pleasant to them to remember, upon Christmas-day, 
who made lame beggars walk and blind men see." 

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trem- 
bled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and 
hearty. 450 

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back 
came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his 
brother and sister to his stool beside the fire ; and while Bob, 
turning up his cuffs — as if, poor fellow ! they were capable of be- 
ing made more shabby — compounded some hot mixture in a jug 455 
with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round, and put it 
on the hob to simmer. Master Peter and the two ubiquitous* 
young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon 
returned in high procession. 

Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little 460 
saucepan) hissing hot ; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with 
incredible vigor ; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce ; 
Martha dusted the hot plates ; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him 
in a tiny corner at the table ; the two young Cratchits set chairs 
for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard 465 
upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they 
should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At 
last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succ'eed- 
ed by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all 
along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast ; but 47° 
when she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued 
forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even 
Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table 
with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried. Hurrah ! 

There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe 47; 
there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavor, 
size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration. 
Eked out by apple-sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient 
dinner for the whole family ; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with 



Literary Analysis. — 448-450. Why did the father's voice tremble when 
he said that Tiny Tim " was growing strong ?" 

475. There iieTer, etc. Observe the admirable manner in which the transi- 
tion of paragraphs is effected. 



^64 DICKENS. 

great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), 480 
they hadn't eat it all at last ! Yet every one had had enough, 
and the youngest Cratchits in particular were steeped in sage 
and onion to the eyebrows ! But now, the plates being changed 
by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone — too nervous 
to bear witnesses — to take the pudding up and bring it in. 485 

Suppose it should not be done enough ! Suppose it should 
break in turning out ! Suppose somebody should have got over 
the wall of the backyard and stolen it while they were merry 
with the goose — a supposition at which the two young Cratchits 
became livid ! All sorts of horrors were supposed. 49° 

Hallo ! A great deal of steam ! The pudding was out of the 
copper. A smell like a washing-day ! That was the cloth, A 
smell like an eating-house and a pastry-cook's next door to each 
other, with a laundress's next door to that ! That was the pud- 
ding ! In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered — flushed, but smil- 495 
ing proudly — with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so 
hard and firm, blazing in half of half a quartern of ignited brandy, 
and bedight* with Christmas holly stuck into the top. 

Oh, a wonderful pudding ! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, 
that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. 500 
Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that, now the 
weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her 
doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something 
to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small 
pudding for a large family. Any Cratchit would have blushed 505 
to hint at such a thing. 

At last the dinner was all clone, the cloth was cleared, the 
hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug 
being tasted, and considered perfect, apples and oranges were 
put upon the table, and a shovelful of chestnuts on the fire. 510 

Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth, in what 
Bob Cratchit called a circle, and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood 
the family display of glass — two tumblers, and a custard -cup 
without a handle. 

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as 515 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 482. n-ere steeped, etc. What is the figure of 

speech ? 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



565 



golden goblets would have done ; and Bob served it out with 
beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and 
crackled noisily. Then Bob proposed : 

" A merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us !" 

Which all the family re-echoed. 520 

" God bless us every one !" said Tiny Tim, the last of all. 

He sat very close to his father's side, upon his little stool. 
Bob held his withered little hand in his, as if he loved the child, 
and wished to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might 
be taken from him. 525 

Scrooge raised his head speedily, on hearing his own name. 

"Mr. Scrooge!" said Bob; "Til give you Mr. Scrooge, the 
Founder of the Feast !" 

" The Founder of the Feast indeed !" cried Mrs. Cratchit, red- 
dening. "I wish I had him here. I'd give him a piece of my 530 
mind to feast upon, and I hope he'd have a good appetite for it." 

"My dear," said Bob, "the children ! Christmas-day." 

"It should be Christmas-day, I am sure," said she, "on which 
one drinks the health of such an odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling 
man as Mr. Scrooge. You know he is, Robert ! Nobody knows 535 
it better than you do, poor fellow !" 

" My dear," was Bob's mild answer, " Christmas-day." 

" I'll drink his health for your sake and the day's," said Mrs. 
Cratchit, " not for his. Long life to him ! A merry Christmas 
and a happy New Year ! He'll be very merry and very happy, 540 
I have no doubt!" 

The children drank the toast after her. It was the first of 
their proceedings which had no heartiness in it. Tiny Tim drank 
it last of all, but he didn't care twopence for it. Scrooge was the 
Ogre of the family. The mention of his name cast a dark shad- 545 
ow on the party, which was not dispelled for full five minutes. 

After it had passed away, they were ten times merrier than be- 
fore, from the mere relief of Scrooge the Baleful being done with. 



Literary Analysis. — 530, 531. a piece of my mind. What is the figure of 
speech ? 

540, 541. He'll . . . doubt ! What is the figure of speech ? 

547-567. In this paragraph select all the words of other than Anglo-Saxon 
origin. 



^66 DICKENS. 

Bob Cratchit told them how he had a situation in his eye for 
Master Peter, which would bring in, if obtained, full five and six- 550 
pence weekly. The two young Cratchits laughed tremendously 
at the idea of Peter's being a man of business ; and Peter him- 
self looked thoughtfully at the fire from between his collars, as 
if he were deliberating what particular investments he should 
favor when he came into the receipt of that bewildering income. 55s 
Martha, who was a poor apprentice at a milliner's, then told them 
what kind of work she had to do, and how many hours she work- 
ed at a stretch, and how she meant to lie abed to-morrow morn- 
ing for a good long rest ; to-morrow being a holiday she passed 
at home. Also how she had seen a countess and a lord some 560 
days before, and how the lord "was much about as tall as Peter;" 
at which Peter pulled up his collars so high that you couldn't 
have seen his head if you had been there. All this time the 
chestnuts and the jug went round and round ; and by-and-by 
they had a song, about a lost child travelling in the snow, from s^s 
Tiny Tim, who had a plaintive little voice, and sang it very well 
indeed. 

There was nothing of high mark in this. They were not a 
handsome family ; they were not well dressed ; their shoes were 
far from being water-proof ; their clothes were scanty ; and Peter 57° 
might have known, and very likely did, the inside of a pawn- 
broker's. But they were happ}'', grateful, pleased with one an- 
other, and contented with the time ; and when they faded, and 
looked happier yet in the bright sprinklings of the Spirit's torch 
at parting, Scrooge had his eye upon them, and especially on 575 
Tiny Tim, until the last. 

It was a great surprise to Scrooge, as this scene vanished, to 
hear a hearty laugh. It was a much greater surprise to Scrooge 
to recognize it as his own nephew's, and to find himself in a 
bright, dry, gleaming room, with the Spirit standing smiling by 580 
his side, and looking at that same nephew. 

It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things that, while 
there is infection* in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the 



Literary Analysis. — 568-576. Point out the antithesis in this paragraph. 
583. infection. Discriminate between "infection" and contagion. (See 
Glossary.) 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 567 

world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good -humor. 
When Scrooge's nephew laughed, Scrooge's niece by marriage 58s 
laughed as heartily as he. And their assembled friends, being 
not a bit behindhand, laughed out lustily. 

"He said that Christmas was a humbug, as I live!" cried 
Scrooge's nephew. " He believed it too !" 

" More shame for him, Fred !" said Scrooge's niece, indignant- 590 
ly. Bless those women ! they never do anything by halves. They 
are always in earnest. 

She was very pretty; exceedingly pretty. With a dimpled, 
surprised-looking, capital face, a ripe little mouth that seemed 
made to be kissed — as no doubt it was ; all kinds of good little 595 
dots about her chin, that melted into one another when she 
laughed ; and the sunniest pair of eyes you ever saw in any little 
creature's head. Altogether she was what you would have called 
provoking, but satisfactory, too. Oh, perfectly satisfactory. 

"He's a comical old fellow," said Scrooge's nephew, "that's 600 
the truth ; and not so pleasant as he might be. However, his 
offences carry their own punishment, and I have nothing to say 
against him. Who suffers by his ill whims 1 Himself, always. 
Here he takes it into his head to dislike us, and he won't come 
and dine with us. What's the consequence ? He don't lose 605 
much of a dinner." 

" Indeed, I think he loses a very good dinner," interrupted 
Scrooge's niece. Everybody else said the same, and they must 
be allowed to have been competent judges, because they had just 
had dinner; and, with the dessert* upon the table, were clus-610 
tered round the fire, by lamplight. 

"Well, I am very glad to hear it," said Scrooge's nephew, 
"because I haven't any great faith in the^e young housekeepers. 
What do you say, Topper ?" 

Topper clearly had his eye on one of Scrooge's niece's sisters, 615 
for he answered that a bachelor was a wretched outcast, who had 
no right to express an opinion on the subject. Whereat Scrooge's 



Literary Analysis. — 593-599. She . . . siitisfactory. The deftness of the 
description (which is in Dickens's best manner) will be observed by the pu- 
pil. 

610. dessert. Derivation? 



568 DICKENS. 

niece's sister — the plump one with the lace tucker, not the one 
with the roses — blushed. 

After tea they had some music. For they were a musical fam- 620 
ily, and knew what they were about when they sang a glee or 
catch, I can assure you — especially Topper, who could growl 
away in the bass* like a good one, and never swell the large 
veins in his forehead, or get red in the face over it. 

But they didn't devote the whole evening to inusic. After a 625 
while they played at forfeits ; for it is good to be children some- 
times, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty 
Founder was a child himself. There was first a game at blind- 
man's-buff though. And I no more believe Topper was really 
blinded than I believe he had eyes in his boots. Because the 630 
way in which he went after that plump sister in the lace tucker 
was an outrage on the credulity of human nature. Knocking 
down the fire-irons, tumbling over the chairs, bumping up against 
the piano, smothering himself among the curtains — wherever she 
went, there went he! He always knew where the plump sister 635 
was. He wouldn't catch anybody else. If you had fallen up 
against him, as some of them did, and stood there, he would have 
made a feint of endeavoring to seize you, which would have been 
an affront to your understanding, and would instantly have sidled 
off in the direction of the plump sister. 640 

" Here is a new game," said Scrooge. " One half-hour. Spirit, 
only one !" 

It was a game called Yes and No, where Scrooge's nephew 
had to think of something, and the rest must find out what ; he 
only answering to their questions yes or no, as the case was. 645 
The fire of questioning to which he was exposed elicited from 
him that he was thinking of an animal, a live animal, rather a 
disagreeable animal, a savage animal, an animal that growled 
and grunted sometimes, and talked sometimes, and lived in Lon- 
don, and walked about the streets, and wasn't made a show of, 650 
and wasn't led by anybody, and didn't live in a menagerie, and 
was never killed in a market, and was not a horse, or an ass, or 
a cow, or a bull, or a tiger, or a dog, or a pig, or a cat, or a bear. 



Literary Analysis.— 625-640. The master's hand is seen in this capital 
description. 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



569 



At every new question put to him, this nephew burst into a fresh 
roar of laugliter, and was so inexpressibly tickled that he was 655 
obliged to get up olT the sofa and stamp. At last the plump sis- 
ter cried out, 

" I have found it out ! I know what it is, Fred ! I know what 
it is !" 

" What is it?" cried Fred. 660 

"It's your uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge !" 

Which it certainly was. Admiration was the universal senti- 
ment, though some objected that the reply to " Is it a bear ?" 
ought to have been " Yes." 

Uncle Scrooge had imperceptibly become so gay and light of 665 
heart that he would have drunk to the unconscious company in 
an inaudible speech. But the whole scene passed off in the 
breath of the last word spoken by his nephew ; and he and the 
Spirit were again upon their travels. 

Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they vis- 670 
ited, but always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside 
sick-beds, and they were cheerful ; on foreign lands, and they 
were close at home ; by struggling men, and they were patient 
in their greater hope ; by poverty, and it was rich. In alms- 
house, hospital, and jail, in misery's every refuge where vain 675 
man, in his little brief authority, had not made fast the door and 
barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing and taught Scrooge 
his precepts. Suddenly, as they stood together in an open place, 
the bell struck twelve. 

Scrooge looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it no more. 6So 
As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered the predic- 
tion of old Jacob Marley, and, lifting up his eyes, beheld a sol- 
emn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist along the 
ground towards him. 



LrrERARY Analysis.— 667. inaudible speecli. What is the figure of speech? 
670. Much, etc. Remark on the order of words. 

671-674. The Spirit . . . rich. Remark on the construction of the sentence. 
674-678. In . . . precepts. What kind of sentence rhetorically ? 



570 DICKENS. 



STAVE FOUR.— THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS. 

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. When it 685 
came near him, Scrooge bent down upon his knee ; for in the air 
through which this Spirit moved it seemed to scatter gloom and 
mystery. 

It was shrouded in a deep-black garment, which concealed its 
head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one out- 690 
stretched hand. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke 
nor moved. 

" I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to 
Come ? Ghost of the Future ! I fear you more than any spec- 
tre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, 695 
and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am 
prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. 
Will you not speak to me ?" 

It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before 
them. 700 

" Lead on ! Lead on ! The night is waning fast, and it is 
precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit !" 

They scarcely seemed to enter the city, for the city rather 
seemed to spring up about them. But there they were in the 
heart of it; on 'Change, amongst the merchants. 705 

The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business men. 
Observing that the hand was pointed to them, Scrooge advanced 
to listen to their talk. 

"No," said a great fat man with a monstrous chin, " I don't 
know much aboftt it either way. I only know he's dead." 71° 

" When did he die ?" inquired another. 

"Last night, I believe." 

" Why, what was the matter with him ? I thought he'd never 
die." 

"God knows," said the first, with a yawn. 715 

" What has he done with his money V asked a red-faced gen- 
tleman. 

" I haven't heard," said the man with the large chin. " Com- 
pany, perhaps. He hasn't left it to me. That's all I know. By, 
by!" 720 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. ^yi 

Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the Spirit 
should attach importance to conversation apparently so trivial ; 
but, feeling assured that it must have some hidden purpose, he 
set himself to consider what it was likely to be. It could scarce- 
ly be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, his 725 
old partner, for that was Past, and this Ghost's province was the 
Future. 

He looked about in that very place for his own image ; but 
another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the 
clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, he saw no 730 
likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through 
the Porch. It gave him little surprise, however, for he had been 
revolving in his mind a change of life, and he thought and hoped 
he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this. 

They left this busy scene, and went into an obscure part of 735 
the town, to a low shop where iron, old rags, bottles, bones, and 
greasy offal were bought. A gray-haired rascal, of great age, sat 
smoking his pipe. 

Scrooge and the Phantom came into the presence of this man, 
just as a woman with a heavy bundle slunk into the shop. But 740 
she had scarcely entered, when another woman, similarly laden, 
came in too, and she was closely followed by a man in faded 
black. After a short period of blank astonishment, in which the 
old man with the pipe had joined them, they all three burst into 
a laugh. 745 

" Let the charwoman alone to be the first !" cried she who had 
entered first. " Let the laundress alone to be the second ; and 
let the undertaker's man alone to be the third. Look here, old 
Joe, here's a chance ! If we haven't all three met here without 
meaning it !" 750 

" You couldn't have met in a better place. You were made 
free of it long ago, you know ; and the other two ain't strangers. 
What have you got to sell ? What have you got to sell ?" 

" Half a minute's patience, Joe, and you shall see." 

"What odds, then ! What odds, Mrs. Dilber?" said the worn- 755 
an. " Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He 



Literary Analysis. — 756. Every person . . . themselves. Is this correct in 
.'ict grammar.'' Is it appropriate liere ? 



272 DICKENS. 

always did ! Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like 
these ? Not a dead man, I suppose." 

Mrs. Dilber, whose manner was remarkable for general propi- 
tiation,* said, " No, indeed, ma'am." 760 

" If he wanted to keep 'em after he was dead, a wicked old 
screw, why wasn't he natural in his lifetime ? If he had been, 
he'd have had somebody to look after him when he was struck 
with death, instead of lying gasping out his last there, alone by 
himself." 76s 

" It's the truest wotd that ever was spoke — it's a judgment on 
him." 

"I wish it was a little heavier judgment; and it should have 
been, you may depend upon it, if I could have laid my hands on 
anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the 770 
value of it. Speak out plain. I'm not afraid to be the first, nor 
afraid for them to see it." 

Joe went down on his knees for the greater convenience of 
opening the bundle, and dragged out a large and heavy roll of 
some dark stuff. 775 

"What do you call this ? Bed-curtains !" 

" Ah ! Bed-curtains ! Don't drop that oil upon the blankets, 
now." 

" His blankets !" 

" Whose else's do you think ? He isn't likely to take cold 780 
without 'em, I dare say. Ah ! You may look through that shirt 
till your eyes ache ; but you won't find a hole in it, nor a thread- 
bare place. It's the best he had, and a fine one too. They'd 
have wasted it by dressing him up in it, if it hadn't been for 
me." 78s 

Scrooge listened to this dialogue in horror. 

" Spirit ! I see, I see. The case of this unhappy man might 
be my own. My life tends that way now. Merciful Heaven, 
what is this ?" 

The scene had changed, and now he almost touched a bare, 79° 
uncurtained bed. A pale light, rising in the outer air, fell straight 
upon this bed ; and on it, unwatched, unwept, uncared for, was 
the body of this plundered unknown man. 

" Spirit, let me see some tenderness connected with a death, 
or this dark chamber. Spirit, will be forever present to me." 795 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. C73 

The Ghost conducted him to poor Bob Cratchit's house — the 
dvvelUng he had visited before — and found the mother and tlie 
children seated round the fire. 

Quiet; very quiet. The noisy little Cratchits were as still as 
statues in one corner, and sat looking up at Peter, who had a soo 
book before him. The mother and her daughters were engaged 
in needlework. But surely they were very quiet ! 

" ' And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them.' " 

Where had Scrooge heard those words ? He had not dream- 
ed them. The boy must have read them out, as he and the Spir- 805 
it crossed the threshold. Why did he not go on ?" 

The mother laid her work upon the table, and put her hand 
up to her face. 

" The color hurts my eyes," she said. 

The color ? Ah, poor Tiny Tim ! 810 

"They're better now again. It makes them weak by candle- 
light ; and I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he 
comes home for the world. It must be near his time." 

" Past it rather," Peter answered, shutting up his book. " But 
I think he has walked a little slower than he used, these last few S15 
evenings, mother." 

" I have known him walk with — I have known him walk with 
Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed." 

" And so have I," cried Peter. " Often." 

''And so have I," exclaimed another. So had all. 820 

" But he was very light to carry, and his father loved him so 
that it was no trouble — no trouble. And there is your father at 
the door !" 

She hurried out to meet him ; and little Bob in his comforter 
— he had need of it, poor fellow — came in. His tea was ready S25 
for him on the hob, and they all tried who should help him to it 
most. Then the two young Cratchits got upon his knees and 
laid, each child, a little cheek against his face, as if they said, 
'■ Don't mind it, father. Don't be grieved !" 



Literary Analysis. — 796-841. The imaginary death of Tiny Tim forms 
a companion piece to the imaginary death of Scrooge, and the exquisite ten- 
derness of the one is finely set off by the ghastly circumstances of the^ other. 
Both should receive the careful study of the pupil. 



274 DICKENS. 

Bob was very cheerful with them, and spoke pleasantly to all 830 
the family. He looked at the work upon the table, and praised 
the industry and speed of Mrs. Cratchit and the girls. They 
would be done long before Sunday, he said. 

" Sunday ! You went to-day, then, Robert ?" 

"Yes, my dear," returned Bob. "I wish you could have gone. 835 
It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. 
But you'll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there 
on a Sunday. My little, little child! My little child !" 

He broke down all at once. He couldn't help it. If he could 
have helped it, he and his child would have been farther apart, 840 
perhaps, than they were. 

" Spectre," said Scrooge, " something informs me that our • 
parting moment is at hand. I know it, but I know not how. Tell 
me what man that was, with the covered face, whom we saw lying 
dead?" 845 

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come conveyed him to a dis- 
mal, wretched, ruinous churchyard. 

The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to one. 

" Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point, an- 
swer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that 85c 
Will be, or are they shadows of the things that May be only ?" 

Still the Ghost pointed downward to the grave by which it 
stood. 

" Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if per- 
severed in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from, 855 
the ends will change. Say it is thus with what you show me!" 

The Spirit was immovable as ever. 

Scrooge crept towards it, trembling as he went ; and, following 
the finger, read upon the stone of the neglected grave his own 
name — Ebenezer Scrooge. 860 

" Am / that man who lay upon the bed ? No, Spirit! Oh no, 
no ! Spirit ! hear me ! I am not the man I was. I will not be 
the man I must have been but for this intercourse. Why show 
me this if I am past all hope ? Assure me that I yet may change 
these shadows you have shown me by an altered life," 865 

For the first time the kind hand faltered. 

" I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the 
year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. ryr 

Spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the 
lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the 870 
writing on this stone !" 

Holding up his hands in one last prayer to have his fate re- 
versed, he saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. 
It shrank, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost. 
- Yes, and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the 875 
room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before 
him was his own, to make amends in ! 

He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out 
the lustiest peals he had ever heard. 

Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head, sso 
No fog, no mist, no night ; clear, bright, stirring, golden day. 

" What's to-day ?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in 
Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. 

"Eh?" 

" What's to-day, my fine fellow V 885 

"To-day! Why, Christmas-day." 

" It's Christmas-day ! I haven't missed it. Hallo, my fine 
fellow !" 

" Hallo !" 

" Do you know the poulterer's, in the next street but one, at 890 
the corner?" 

" I should hope I did." 

(An intelligent boy ! A remarkable boy !) — " Do you know 
whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up 
there ? Not the little prize Turkey — the big one ?" 895 

" What, the one as big as me ?" 

" What a delightful boy ! It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, 
my buck !" 

" It's hanging there now." 

" Is it ! Go and buy it." 9°° 

" Walk-ER !" exclaimed the boy. 

" No, no, I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to bring 
it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. 



Literary Analysis. — 881. No . . . day. What is the effect of the ellipses ? 
901. Walk-ER. A piece of London slang in vogue at the time the Christinas 
Carol was written. It implies utter incredulity. 



-y5 DICKENS. 

Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come 
back with him in less than five minutes, and I'll give you half a 905 
crown !" 

The boy was off like a shot. 

" I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's ! He sha'n't know who sends 
it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made 
such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be !" 91° 

The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one ; 
but write it he did, somehow, and went down stairs to open the 
street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. 

It was a Turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, 
that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, 91s 
like sticks of sealing-wax. 

Scrooge dressed himself " all in his best," and at last got out 
into the streets. The people were by this time pouring forth, as 
he had seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Present ; and, 
walking with his hands behind him, Scrooge regarded every one 92° 
with a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly pleasant, in a 
word, that three or four good-humored fellows said, " Good-morn- 
ing, sir ! A merry Christmas to you !" And Scrooge said often 
afterwards that, of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those 
were the blithest in his ears. 925 

In the afternoon, he turned his steps towards his nephew's 
house. 

He passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage 
to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it. 

" Is your master at home, my dear ?" said Scrooge to the girl. 930 
(Nice girl ! Very.) 

"Yes, sir." 

" Where is he, my love ?" 

" He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress." 

" He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the 93s 
dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear." 

"Fred!" 

"Why, bless my soul !" cried Fred, "who's that?" 

"It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will 
you let me in, Fred ?" 940 

Let him in ! It is a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He 
was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His 



A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 



577 



niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So 
did the plump sister, when she came. So did every one when they 
came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, 945 
won-der-ful happiness ! 

But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early 
there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit 
coming late ! That was the thing he had set his heart upon. 

And he did it. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter 950 
past. No Bob. Bob was full eighteen minutes and a half be- 
hind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he 
might see him come into the Tank. 

Bob's hat was off before he opened the door ; his comforter 
too. He was on his stool in a jiffy ; driving away with his pen, 955 
as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock. 

" Hallo !" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice, as near 
as he could feign it. " What do you mean by coming here at 
this time of day ?" 

" I am very sorry, sir. I a7)i behind my time." 960 

" You are ? Yes. I think you are. Step this way, if you 
please." 

" It's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was 
making rather merry yesterday, sir." 

" Now, I'll tell you what, my friend. I am not going to stand 965 
this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," Scrooge contin- 
ued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the 
waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again — " and 
therefore I am about to raise your salaiy !" 

Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. 97° 

" A merry Christmas, Bob !" said Scrooge, with an earnestness 
that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. " A 
merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you 
for many a year ! I'll raise your salary, and endeavor to assist 
your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very 975 
afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop. Bob ! Make 
up the fires, and buy a second coal-scuttle before you dot another 
i. Bob Cratchit !" 



Literary Analysis. — 947-978. But ... Cratchit ! Relate in your own 
words the little drama between Scroos;e and Bob Cratchit. 



37 



^jS DICKENS. 

Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely 
more \ and to Tiny Tim, who did not die, he was a second father. 980 
He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a 
man as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, 
or borough in the good old world. Some people laughed to see 
the alteration in him ; but his own heart laughed, and that was 
quite enough for him. 985 

He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived in that 
respect upon the Total-Abstinence Principle ever afterwards ; 
and it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christ- 
mas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that 
be truly said of us, and all of us ! And so, as Tiny Tim ob- 99° 
served, God Bless Us, Every One ! 



Literary Analysis. — 979-991. In these two paragraphs which words are 
of Anglo-Saxon, and which of classical, origin .^ 



XXXVIII. 



JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 

1819. 




VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 

[Introduction. — The following note was prefixed by Mr. Lowell to the 
first edition of the Vision of Sir- Laimfal (Cambridge, 1848): "According to 
the mythology of the Romancers, the San Greal, or Holy Grail, was the 
cup out of which Jesus partook of the last supper with his disciples. It 
was brought into England by Joseph of Arimathea, and remained there, an 
object of i:iilgrimage and adoration for many years, in the keeping of his 



58o 



LOWELL. 



lineal descendants. It was incumbent upon those who had charge of it to 
be chaste in thought, word, and deed ; but one of the keepers having broken 
this condition, the Holy Grail disappeared. From that time it was a favorite 
enterprise of the knights of Arthur's court to go in search of it. Sir Galahad 
was at last successful in finding it, as may be read in the seventeenth book of 
the Romance of King Arthur. Tennyson has made Sir Galahad the subject 
of one of the most exquisite of his poems."] 

PRELUDE TO PART FIRST. 

1. Over his keys the musing organist, 

Beginning doubtfully and far away, 
First lets his fingers wander as they list, 

And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay : 
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument 

Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme. 
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent 

Along the wavering vista of his dream. 

2. Not only around our infancy 

Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ; i 

Daily, with souls that cringe and plot. 
We Sinais climb and know it not. 
Over our manhood bend the skies ; 

Against our fallen and traitor lives 
The great winds utter prophecies ; i 

With our faint hearts the mountain strives ; 
Its arms outstretched, the druid wood 

Waits with its benedicite; 
And to our age's drowsy blood 

Still shouts the inspiring sea. 2 



Literary Analysis. — 1-4. Over . . . lay. Periodic or loose ? Change into 
the prose order. 

4. builds . . . Dreamland. Express this aerial thought in your own words. 
What is the figure of speech ? 

5-8. Then . . . dream. Analyze this proposition. 

9, ID. Not . . . lie. Cite the passage from Wordsworth {Intimations of Im- 
inortality) to which this passage is an allusion. 

12. We Sinais climb. What is the figure of speech? 

17-20. Its . . . sea. Point out the examples of personification in this pas- 
sage. What is the thought expressed in lines 17, 18? What is the meaning 
of " age's " as here used ? 

18. benedicite (Lat.), literally, be tkoti blessed : hence, a blessing. 



VISION OF SIR LA UNFA L. 

3. Earth gets its price for what earth gives us: 

The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, 
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives* us, 

We bargain for the graves we He in ; 
At the devil's booth are all things sold, 
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; 

For a cap and bells our lives we pay: 
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking; 

'Tis heaven alone that is given away, 
'Tis only God may be had for the asking. 
No price is set on the lavish summer; 
June may be had by the poorest comer. 

4. And what is so rare as a day in June ? 

Then, if ever, come perfect days ; 
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 

And over it softly her warm ear lays : 
Whether we look, or whether we listen. 
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; 
Every clod feels a stir of might. 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers. 
And, groping blindly above it for light. 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers. 

5. The flush of life may well be seen 

Thrilling back over hills and valleys; 
The cowslip startles in meadows green. 

The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice. 
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean 

To be some happy creature's palace. 



581 



Literary Analysis. — 21-32. Earth ... comer. What line in this stanza 
is in antithesis to line 21 ? — What specific instances are given of the general 
proposition contained in line 21 ? What renders these instances impressive.? 
— By what synecdoche does the author indicate afooVs reward? — What is the 
meaning of " heaven " as here employed ?— Explain line 30, and state with 
what line in this stanza it contrasts. 

33-36. And . . . lays. These fine lines have justly taken a place among fa- 
miliar quotations. On what is the figure in this passage founded .' 

42. Climbs . . . flowers. Explain. 

46. The buttercup ... chalice. What is the figure.? Express in plain lan- 
guage. 



582 



LOWELL. 

6. The little bird sits at his door in the sun, 

Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, 50 

And lets his illumined being o'errun 

With the deluge of summer it receives ; 
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, 
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ; 
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest : 55 

In the nice ear of Nature, which song is the best ? 

7. Now is the high tide of the year. 

And whatever of life hath ebbed away 
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, 

Into every bare inlet and creek and bay ; 60 

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it. 
We are happy now because God wills it ; 
No matter how barren the past may have been, 
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green. 
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well 65 

How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; 
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
That the skies are clear and grass is girowing. 

8. The breeze comes whispering in our ear 

That dandelions are blossoming near, 70 

That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing. 
That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by ; 
And if the breeze kept the good news back, 
For other couriers vv^e should not lack; 75 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 49-56. The . . . best? In stanza 6 point out a simile ; 
a striking epitliet. — Explain " deluge of summer." — What human application 
may be made of line 55 ? 

57-60. Now . . . bay. What is the basis of the metaphor.' Follow out the 
details of the application. 

57-68. Now . . . growing. In stanza 7 are there any words of other than 
Anglo-Saxon origin? 

69-79. The breeze . . . crowing! In stanza 8 point out instances of personi- 
fication. 



VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 583 

We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing — 
And hark ! how clear bold chanticleer, 
Warmed with the new wine of the year, 

Tells all in his lusty crowing ! 

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not howj 
Everything is happy now, 

Everything is upward striving ; 
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true 
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue — 

'Tis the natural way of living. 

Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake ; 
And the eyes forget the, tears they have shed. 

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache ; 
The soul partakes the season's youth, 

And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, 

Like burned-out craters healed with snow. 
What wonder if Sir Launfal now 
Remembered the keeping of his vow .'' 



PART FIRST. 

" My golden spurs now bring to me, 
And bring to me my richest mail, 

For to-morrow I go over land and sea 
In search of the Holy Grail ; 



Literary Analysis. — 78. W.armed , . . year. What kind of phrase, and 
adjunct to what word .? What figure of speech in this line ? 

86, 87. Who . . . wake. Which subsequent lines express subjectively what 
these express objectively. — Explain the metaphor in line 87. 

91-93. the sulphurous . . . snow. Point out the simile, show how it illustrates 
the thought, and state from what the sublimity of the figure arises. 

94, 95. What wonder if Sir Launfal . . . vow J The poet, like his "musing or- 
ganist," has, in the Prelude, been letting " his fingers wander as they list." 
Now the theme " nearer draws," and is formally introduced in this query. 
Let the pupil carefully re-read the Prelude, and state in his own language the 
thought in stanza 2 ; stanza 3 ; stanzas 4-ro. In these the poet, like the mu- 
sician, strikes his fundamental chords. 

97. mail. Explain. 



584 



LOWELL. 

Shall never a bed for me be spread, 

Nor shall a pillow be under my head, 

Till I begin my vow to keep ; 

Here on the rushes will I sleep. 

And perchance there may come a vision true 

Ere day create the world anew." 

Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim, 

Slumber fell like a cloud on him, 
And into his soul the vision flew. 

2. The crows flapped over by twos and threes. 

In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, 
The little birds sang as if it were 
The one day of summer in all the year, 

And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees ; 

The castle alone in the landscape lay 

Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray ; 

'Twas the proudest hall in the North Countree, 

And never its gates might opened be, 

Save to lord or lady of high degree. 

3. Summer besieged it on every side, 

But the churlish stone her assaults defied; 

She could not scale the chilly wall. 

Though round it for leagues her pavilions tall 

Stretched left and right, 

Over the hills and out of sight ; 

Green and broad was every tent. 

And out of each a murmur went 
Till the breeze fell off at nigrht. 



Literary Analysis. — 100. shall never a bed. Arrange in the direct order. 

105. Ere day create, etc. Express this periphrasis in a single word. 

109-118. The croivs . . . degree. What contrast is presented in this stanza? 
— Point out a picturesque expression ; a fanciful expression ; a striking sim- 
ile. Show the propriety of the term "outpost" as here used. 

119. Summer besieged, etc. Show how the thought suggested as simile in 
line 115 is here continued as metaphor. 

122-125. her paTilions tall . . . every tent. Explain these expressions as here 
employed. 



VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 585 

4. The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, 
And through the dark arch a charger sprang, 
Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight. 

In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright 
It seemed the dark castle had gathered all 
Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall 

In his siege of three hundred summers long, 
And, binding them all in one blazing sheaf. 

Had cast them forth : so, young and strong, 
And lightsome as a locust-leaf. 
Sir Launfal flashed forth in his unscarred mail. 
To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. 

5. It was morning on hill and stream and tree, 

And morning in the young knight's heart ; 
Only the castle moodily 
Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free, 

And gloomed by itself apart; 
The season brimmed all other things up 

Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup. 

6. As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate, 

He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same. 
Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate ; 

And a loathing over Sir Launfal came : 
The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, 

The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl. 
And midway its leap his heart stood still 

Like a frozen waterfall; 



Literary Analysis. — 128-139. The drawbridsre , . . Grail. Note the power- 
ful manner in which the narrative is managed : the mere structure of the lines 
suggests a rush and flash. — Point out the element of hyperbole in this stanza. 

140, 141. It was morning. . . heart. In which line is "morning" used in a 
literal, in which in a figurative, sense ? — Change the metaphor in line 141 into 
a simile. 

143-146. Rebuffed . . . cup. Is " Rebuffed " used in a literal or in a figura- 
tive sense? — Remark on the verbs "gloomed" and "brimmed." — Show the 
felicity of the simile. 

147. made morn. Explain. 

148. Point out an unpleasantly prosaic phrase in this line. 
151. The sunshine went, etc. What is the figure of speech ? 
154. Remark on the simile. 



586 



LOWELL. 

For this man, so foul and bent of stature, 155 

Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, 

And seemed the one blot on the summer morn — 

So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. 

The leper raised not the gold from the dust : 

" Better to me the poor man's crust, i6o 

Better the blessing of the poor, 

Though I turn me empty from his door ; 

That is no true alms which the hand can hold ; 

He gives nothing but worthless gold 

Who gives from a sense of duty; 165 

But he who gives a slender mite. 
And gives to that which is out of sight — 

That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty 
Which runs through all and doth all unite — 
The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, 170 

The heart outstretches its eager palms. 
For a god goes with it and makes it store 
To the soul that was starving in darkness before." 



PRELUDE TO PART SECOND. 



Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak. 
From the snow five thousand summers old ; 

On open wold * and hill-top bleak 
It had gathered all the cold, 

And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek ; 

It carried a shiver everywhere 

From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare. 



Literary Analysis.— 159-173. The leper . . . before. Point out the antith- 
esis in this stanza ; the aphorisms. — Is there any verb to which " he " (line 
166) is subject? (Of course, as "he" will Xiot parse, it must in strict gram- 
mar be condemned as a solecism.) In what line is the thought brought fully 
out ? — Point out a metaphor in this stanza. 

174-239. To what is the Prelude to Part Second a companion piece? Re- 
mark on the two. 

174-180. Down . . . bare. Point out an instance of synecdoche in this stanza. 
— Etymology of " wold " ( 1 76) ? 



VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. ,587 

The little brook heard it and built a roof 

'Neath which he could house him, winter-proof ; 

All night by the white stars' frosty gleams 

He groined his arches and matched his beams ; 

Slender and clear were his crystal spars 185 

As the lashes of light that trim the stars ; 

He sculptured every summer delight 

In his halls and chambers out of sight. 

Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt 

Down through a frost-leaved forest-crypt, 190 

Long sparkling aisles of steel-stemmed trees 

Bending to counterfeit a breeze ; 

Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew 

But silvery mosses that downward grew ; 

Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief 19s 

With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; 

Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear 

For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here 

He had caught the nodding bulrush-tops 

And hung them thickly with diamond drops, 200 

That crystalled the beams of moon and sun. 

And made a star of every one. 

No mortal builder's most rare device 

Could match this winter-palace of ice ; 

'Twas as if every image that mirrored lay 20^ 

In his depths serene through the summer day, 

Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky. 

Lest the happy model should be lost, 
Had been mimicked in fairy masonry 

By the elfin builders of the frost. 210 



Literary Analysis. — 181-210. The little brook . . . frost. The narrative 
description in these stanzas presents a good example of an exercise of fancy, 
as contrasted with a woric of imagination. Select what you deem the most 
graceful strokes of fancy ; the most picturesque epithets or expressions. — Ex- 
plain "crypt" (190); "relief" (195) ; "arabesques" (196). 

184. groiued. Quote Emerson's use of this verb in the poem of The Problem. 



e88 LOWELL. 

5. Within the hall are song and laughter, 

The cheeks of Christmas grow red and jolly, 
And sprouting is every corbel and rafter 

With lightsome green of ivy and holly; 
Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide 2 

Wallows the Yule*-log's roaring tide; 
The broad fiame-pennons droop and flap 

And belly and tug as a flag in the wind; 
Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, 

Hunted to death in its galleries blind; 2 

And swift little troops of silent sparks. 

Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, 
Go threading the soot-forest's tangled darks 

Like herds of startled deer. 

6. But the wind without was eager and sharp, 3 
Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, 

And rattles and wrings 

The icy strings, 
Singing, in dreary monotone, 

A Christmas carol of its own, : 

Whose burden still, as he might guess. 
Was — " Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless !" 

7. The voice of the seneschal* flared like a torch 
As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, 

And he sat in the gateway and saw all night . ; 

The great hall-fire, so cheery and bold. 
Through the window-slits of the castle old, 

Build out its piers of ruddy light 
Against the drift of the cold. 

Literary Analysis. — 211-224. Witliin . . . deer. 'How is the picture of 
winter dreariness in lines 174-180 intensified by the picture in stanza 5? — 
Point out a personification; a simile. — Explain "corbel" (213); "Yule" 
(216). — What is meant by "the soot-forest's tangled darks" (223).? 

225-232. But . . . shelterless ! What, again, is the effect of the juxtaposition 
of the pictures in stanzas 5 and 6 ? — Point out a metajjhor in stanza 6, and 
state what you think of it as a figure. 

233. flared like a torch. State your opinion of the propriety of this as a 
predicate to "voice." 

233-239. The voice . . . cold. Point out a striking predicate in stanza 7. 



VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. 



PART SECOND. 

There was never a leaf on bush or tree, 
The bare boughs rattled shudderingly; 
The river was numb and could not speak, 

For the. weaver Winter its shroud had spun ; 
A single crow on the tree-top bleak 

From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun ; 
Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, 
As if her veins were sapless and old. 
And she rose up decrepitly 
For a last dim look at earth and sea. 

Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gate. 

For another heir in his earldom sate ; 

An old, bent man, worn out and frail. 

He came back from seeking the Holy Grail; 

Little he recked* of his earldom's loss. 

No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross, 

But deep in his soul the sign he wore. 

The badge of the suffering and the poor. 

Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare 

Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, 

For it was just at the Christmas time; 

So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, 

And sought for a shelter from cold and snow 

In the light and warmth of long ago : 

He sees the snake-like caravan crawl 

O'er the edge of the desert, black and small. 

Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, 

He can count the camels in the sun. 



589 



Literary Analysts. — 240. never. Grammatical construction .' 
243. For, . . spun. What is the figure of speech.'' 
247-249. As . . . sea. What is the figure of speech 1 
250. hard gate. Explain. 

259. idle mail. What is the figure of speech .-" 

264-272. He sees . . . palms. Enumerate the details of the picture. — Specify 
any word used in a figurative sense. — Explain line 271. 



59° 



LOWELL. 

As over the red-hot sands they pass 

To where, in its slender necklace of grass, 

The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade, 270 

And with its own self like an infant played, 

And waved its signal of palms. 

4. " For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms:" — 
The happy camels may reach the spring, 

But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, 27s 

The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone 
That cowers beside him — a thing as lone 
And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas — 
In the desolate horror of his disease. 

5. And Sir Launfal said, " I behold in thee 280 
An image of Him who died on the tree; 

Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, 

Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns. 

And to thy life were not denied 

The wounds in the hands and feet and side : 285 

Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me ; 

Behold, through him, I give to thee !" 

6. Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes 

And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he 
Remembered in what a haughtier guise 290 

He had flung an alms to leprosie, 
When he girt his young life up in gilded mail 
And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. 
The heart within him was ashes and dust ; 
He parted in twain his single crust, 295 

He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, 
And gave the lejoer to eat and drink : 



Literary Analysis.— 273-279. For , . . disease. Who speaks in line 273 ? 
— Point out a powerful simile in this stanza. 

288-297. Then . . . drink. Explain line 288. — By what figure of speech is 
" leprosie " used for the leper ? Translate into plain language the figurative 
expression " girt his young life up " (292). 



VISION OF SIR LA UNFA L. rgi 

'Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, 

'Twas water out of a wooden bowl — 
Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, 

And 'twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. 

As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, 

A light shone round about the place ; 

The leper no longer crouched at his side, 

But stood before him glorified, 

Shining and tall and fair and straight 

As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate — 

Himself the Gate whereby men can 

Enter the temple of God in Man. 

His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine. 

And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, 

Which mingle their softness and quiet in one 

With the shaggy unrest they float down upon ; 

And the voice that was calmer than silence said, 

" Lo it is I, be not afraid ! 

In many climes, without avail, 

Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail ; 

Behold it is here — this cup which thou 

Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; 

This crust is my body broken for thee. 

This water His blood that died on the tree ; 

The Holy Supper is kept, indeed. 

In whatso we share with another's need ; 

Not what we give, but what we share — 

For the gift without the giver is bare ; 

Who gives himself with his alms feeds three — 

Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me." 



Literary Analysis. — 298-301. 'Twas ... soul. Point out the paradox, 

and reconcile the statements. 

302-314. As . . . said. In stanza 7 point out a simile ; a metaphor. — Explain 
the allusion in the "Beautiful Gate" (307). — For what word is "brine" {311) 
used by synecdoche ? 

315-327. Point out the two noblest lines in stanza 8. 



592 



LOWELL. 

9. Sir Lannfal awoke as from a swound: — 
" The Grail in my castle here is found ! 
Hang my idle armor up on the wall, 
Let it be the spider's banquet-hall ; 
He must be fenced with stronger mail 
Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." 

10. The castle gate stands open now, 

And the wanderer is welcome to the hall 
As the hang-bird is to the elm-tree bough ; 

No longer scowl the turrets tall. 
The summer's long siege at last is o'er; 
When the first poor outcast went in at the door, 
She entered with him in disguise. 
And mastered the fortress by surprise : 
There is no spot she loves so well on ground, 
She lingers and smiles there the whole year round. 
The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land 
Has hall and bower at his command; 
And there's no poor man in the North Countree 
But is lord of the earldom as much as he. 



LrrERARY Analysis. — 334-347. The ca«tle ... he. Paraphrase the last 
stanza. 



XXXIX. 

GEORGE ELIOT (Mrs. G. H. Lewes). 
1820. 



CHARACTERIZATION BY R. H. HUTTON. 

1. The great authoress who calls herself George Eliot is chiefly 
known, and no doubt deserves to be chiefly known, as a novelist, 
but she is certainly much more than a novelist in the sense in 
which that word applies even to writers of great genius — to Miss 
Austen or Mr. Trollope ; nay, much more than a novelist in the 
sense in which that word applies to Miss Bronte', or even to 
Thackeray ; though it is of course true, in relation to all these 
writers, that, besides being much more, she is also and neces- 
sarily not so much. 

2. What is remarkable iir George Eliot is the striking com- 
bination in her of very deep speculative power with a very great 
and realistic imagination. It is rare to find an intellect so 
skilled in the analysis of the deepest psychological problems, so 
completely at home in the conception and delineation of real 
characters. George Eliot discusses the practical influences act- 
ing on men and women, I do not say with the ease of Fielding — 
for there is a touch of carefulness, often of over-carefulness, in 
all she does — but with much of his breadth and spaciousness ; 
the breadth and spaciousness, one must remember, of a man 
who had seen London life in the capacity of a London police 
magistrate. Nay, her imagination has, I do not say of course 
the fertility, but something of the range and the delight in rich 
historic coloring, of Sir Walter Scott's ; while it combines with it 
something too of the pleasure in ordered learning, and the labori- 
ous marshalling of the picturesque results of learning which gives 
the flavor of scholastic pride to the great genius of Milton. . . . 

38 



594 ELIOT. 

3. George Eliot's genial, broad delineations of human life have, 
as I said just now, more perhaps of the breadth of Fielding than 
of any of the manners-painters of the present day. For these 
imagine life only as it appears in a certain dress and sphere, 
which are a kind of artificial medium for their art — life as af- 
fected by drawing-rooms. George Eliot has little, if any, of their 
capacity for catching the undertones and allusive complexity of 
this sort of society. She has, however, observed the phases of a 
more natural and straightforward class of life, and she draws her 
external world as much as possible from observation — though 
some of her Florentine pictures must have been suggested more 
by literary study than by personal experience — instead of imag- 
ining it, like Miss Bronte, out of the heart of the characters she 
wishes to paint. . . . 

4. Another element in which George Eliot shows the mascu- 
line breadth and strength of her genius adds less to the charm 
of her tales, — I mean the shrewdness and miscellaneous range 
of her observations on life. Nothing is rarer than to see in 
women's writings that kind of strong acute generalization which 
Fielding introduced so freely. Yet the miscellaneous observa- 
tions in which George Eliot so often indulges us, after the fash- 
ion of the day, are not always well suited to the particular bent 
of her genius; indeed, they often break the spell which that 
genius has laid upon her readers. She is not a satirist, and she 
half adopts the style of a satirist in these elements of her books. 
The influence of Thackeray had at first a distinctly bad effect 
on her genius, but in Silas Marner that influence began to wane, 
and quite disappeared in Romola, though I think it reappeared 
a little in Felix Holt. A powerful and direct style of portraiture 
is in ill-keeping with that flavor of sarcastic innuendo in which 
Thackeray delighted. It jars upon the ear in the midst of the 
simple and faithful delineations of human nature as it really is, 
with which George Eliot fills her books. It was all very well 
for Thackeray, who made it his main aim and business to expose 
the hollowness and insincerities of human society, to add his 
own keen comment to his own one-sided picture. But then it 
was of the essence of his genius to lay bare unrealities, and 
leave the sound life almost untouched. It was rather a relief 
than otherwise to see him playing with his dissecting-knife after 



MUTTON'S CHARACTERIZATION OF ELIOT. 



595 



one of his keenest probing feats ; you understand better how 
Hmited his purpose is — that he has been in search of organic 
disease — and you are not surprised, therefore, to find that he has 
found little that was healthy. 

5. The artistic conditions under which George Eliot works are, 
when she chooses, singularly favorable to the exhibition of the 
only kind of "moral " which a genuine artist should admit. No 
one now ever thinks of assuming that a writer of fiction lies 
under any obligation to dispose of his characters exactly as he 
would perhaps feel inclined to do if he could determine for them 
the circumstances of a real instead of an imaginary life. It was 
a quaint idea of the last generation to suppose that the moral 
tendency of a tale lay, not in discriminating evil and good, but 
in the zeal which induced the novelist to provide, before the end 
of the third volume, for plucking up and burning the tares. But, 
though we have got over that notion, our modern satirists are 
leading us into the opposite extreme, and trying to convince us 
that even discrimination itself, in such deep matters, is nearly 
impossible. The author of t\\&Mill on the Floss is hardly exempt 
from this tendency, but in Adam Bede it is not discernible. 

6. The only moral in a fictitious story which can properly be 
demanded of writers of genius is, not to shape their tale this 
way or that — which they may justly decline to do on artistic 
grounds — but to discriminate clearly the relative nobility of the 
characters they do conceive ; in other words, to give us light 
enough in their pictures to let it be clearly seen where the shad- 
ows are intended to lie. An artist who leaves it doubtful whether 
he recognizes the distinction between good and evil at all, or 
who detects in all his characters so much evil that the readers' 
sympathies must either be entirely passive or side with what is 
evil, is blind to artistic as well as moral laws. To banish con- 
fusion from a picture is the first duty of the artist, and confu- 
sion must exist where those lines which are the most essential 
of all for determining the configuration of human character are 
invisible or indistinctly drawn. Moreover, I think it may be 
said that in painting human nature an artist is bound to give 
due weight to the motives which would claim authority over him 
in other acts of his life ; and as he would be bound at any time 
and in any place to do anything in his power to make clear the 



596. ELIOT. 

relation between good and evil, the same motive ought to induce 
him never to omit in his drawing to put in a light or a shadow 
which would add to the moral truthfulness of the picture. 



FROM ROMOLA. 



[Introduction. — The following is an extract from Romola, the most 
scholarly of George Eliot's novels. It finely depicts the internal conflicts and 
gradual yielding to temptation of a pleasure-loving, vacillating, but in some re- 
spects not unamiable nature.] 

Tito was thus sailing under the fairest breeze, and, besides 
convincing fair judges that his talents* squared with his good 
fortune, he wore that fortune so easily and unpretentiously that 
no one had yet been oiTended by it. He was not unlikely to get 
into the best Florentine society — society where there was much 5 
more plate than the circle of enamelled silver in the centre of 
the brass dishes, and where it was not forbidden by the signory * 
to wear the richest brocade. For where could a handsome 
young scholar not be welcome when he could touch the lute and 
troll a gay song ? That bright face, that easy smile, that liquid 10 
voice, seemed to give life a holiday aspect ; just as a strain of 
gay music and the hoisting of colors make the work-worn and 
the sad rather ashamed of showing themselves. Here was a 
professor likely to render the Greek classics amiable to the sons 
of great houses. 15 

And that was not the whole of Tito's good fortune ; for he 
had sold all his jewels, except the ring he did not choose to part 
with, and he was master of full five hundred gold florins.* 

Yet the moment when he first had this sum in his possession 
was the crisis of the first serious struggle his facile, good-hu- 20 
mored nature had known. An importunate thought, of which 



Literary Analysis. — 1-15. Tito . • . houses. In this paragraph point out 
three metaphors and a simile. — What is meant by "his talents squared with 
his good fortune V — Change the third sentence from the interrogative to the 
declarative form. Which is the more effective t 

21-26. An importunate ... con seqiiencos. What is the figure of speech? 
Show how the metaphor is carried out. — Substitute a single adjective for the 
clause " that must carry irrevocable consequences." 



FROM ROMOLA. cny 

he had till now refused to see more than the shadow as it 
dogged his footsteps, at last rushed upon him and grasped him : 
he was obliged to pause and decide whether he would surrender 
and obey, or whether he would give the refusal that must carry 25 
irrevocable consequences. It was in the room above Nello's 
shop, which Tito had now hired as a lodging, that the elder Cen- 
nini handed him the last quota* of the sum on behalf of Ber- 
nardo Rucellai, the purchaser of the Cleopatra. 

* * * * * # 

As Cennini closed the door behind him, Tito turned round 30 
with the smile dying out of his face, and fixed his eyes on the 
table where the florins lay. He made no other movement, but 
stood with his thumbs in his belt looking down, in that trans- 
fixed state which accompanies the concentration of conscious- 
ness on some inward image. 35 

"A man's ransom !" — who was it that had said five hundred 
florins was more than a man's ransom t If now, under this mid- 
day sun, on some hot coast far away, a man somewhat stricken 
in years — a man not without high thoughts and with the most 
passionate heart; a man who, long years ago, had rescued a lit- 40 
tie boy from a life of beggary, filth, and cruel wrong, had reared 
him tenderly, and been to him as a father — if that man were 
now under this summer sun toiling as a slave, hewing wood and 
drawing water, perhaps being smitten and buffeted because he 
was not deft and active — if he were saying to himself, " Tito 45 
will find me : he had but to carry our manuscripts and gems to 
Venice ; he will have raised money, and will never i-est till he 
finds me out ?" If that were certain, could he, Tito, see the 
price of the gems lying before him and say, " I will stay at Flor- 
ence, where I am fanned by soft airs of promised love and pros- 50 
perity : I will not risk myself for his sake ?" No, surely not, if 
it were certain. But nothing could be farther from certainty. 
The galley had been taken by a Turkish vessel on its way to 
Delos : that was known by the report of the companion galley. 



Literary Analysis. — 30-32. As . . . lay. What felicitous phrase in this 
sentence ? 

37-51. If now . . . sake? What kind of sentence grammatically? Rhetori- 
cally ? Analyze this sentence. 



598 ELIOT. 

which had escaped. But there had been resistance, and prob- ss 
able bloodshed ; a man had been seen falling overboard : who 
were the survivors, and what had befallen them among all the 
multitude of possibilities ? Had not he, Tito, suffered ship- 
wreck, and narrowly escaped drowning? He had good cause 
for feeling the omnipresence of casualties that threatened all 60 
projects with futility. The rumor that there were pirates who 
had a settlement in Delos was not to be depended on, or might 
be nothing to the purpose. What, probably enough, would be 
the result if he were to quit Florence and go to Venice ; get au- 
thoritative letters — yes, he knew that might be done — and set 65 
out for the Archipelago ? Why, that he should be himself 
seized, and spend all his florins on preliminaries, and be again a 
destitute wanderer — with no more gems to sell. 

Tito had a clearer vision of that result than of the possible 
moment when he might find his father again, and carry him de- 7° 
liverance. It would surely be an unfairness that he, in his full 
ripe youth, to whom life had hitherto had some of the stint and 
subjection of a school, should turn his back on promised love 
and distinction, and perhaps never be visited by that promise 
again. "And yet," he said to himself, "if I were certain — yes, 75 
if I were certain that Baldassarre Calvo was alive, and that I 
could free him, by whatever exertions or perils, I would go now 
— now I have the money : it was useless to debate the matter 
before. I would go now to Bardo and Bartolommeo Scala and 
tell them the whole truth." Tito did not say to himself so dis- 80 
tinctly that if those two men had known the whole truth he was 
aware there would have been no alternative for him but to go in 
search of his benefactor, who, if alive, was the rightful owner of 
the gems, and whom he had always equivocally spoken of as 
" lost ;" he did not say to himself, what he was not ignorant of, 85 
that Greeks of distinction had made sacrifices, taken voyages 



Literary Analysis.— 59-61. Substitute synonyms for the following itali- 
cized words : " He had good cause for feeling the omnipresence of casualties 
that threatened 2\\ projects Wiih. futility." 

69-89. Tito . . . virtue. This paragraph, with the preceding and several sub- 
sequent paragraphs, illustrates the tendency of George Eliot to subjective nar- 
ration (see Def. 7, i and ii). She frequently, as here, allows action to cease 
while she dissects character, and lays bare hidden motives. 



FROM ROMOLA. 



599 



again and again, and sought help from crowned and mitred 
heads for the sake of freeing relatives from slavery to the Turks. 
Public opinion did not regard that as an exceptional virtue. 

This was his first real colloquy with himself : he had gone on 9° 
following the impulses of the moment, and one of those impulses 
had been to conceal half the fact : he had never considered this 
part of his conduct long enough to face the consciousness of his 
motives for the concealment. What was the use of telling the 
whole ? It was true, the thought had crossed his mind several 95 
times since he had quitted Nauplia that, after all, it was a great 
relief to be quit of Baldassarre, and he would have liked to know 
who it was that had fallen overboard. But such thoughts spring 
inevitably out of a relation that is irksome.* Baldassarre was 
exacting, and had got stranger as he got older : he was con- 100 
stantly scrutinizing Tito's mind to see whether it answered to 
his own exaggerated expectations ; and age — the age of a thick- 
set, heavy-browed, bald man beyond sixty, whose intensity and 
eagerness in the grasp of ideas have long taken the character 
of monotony and repetition — may be looked at from many points 105 
of view without being found attractive. Such a man, stranded 
among new acquaintances, unless he had the philosopher's stone, 
would hardly find rank, youth, and beauty at his feet. The feel- 
ings that gather fervor from novelty will be of little help towards 
making the world a home for dimmed and faded human beings ; no 
and if there is any love of which they are not widowed, it must 
be the love that is rooted in memories and distils perpetually 
the sweet balms of fidelity and forbearing tenderness. 

But surely such memories were not absent from Tito's mind ? 



Literary Analysis. — 87, 88. crowned and mitred heads. What is the fig- 
ure of speech? Change into plain language. 

90-94. This . . . concealment. Break up into two sentences, uniting by a con- 
nective the last two members in one sentence. 

100. had got stranger as he got older. Query as to the diction. 

106-108. Such . . . feet. What kind of sentence rhetorically ? Change into 
the direct order. What word in this sentence is used figuratively ? 

108-113. The feelings ... tenderness. Express this sentence in your own 
words. Point out a word used metaphorically. 



6oo ELIOT. 

Far in the backward vista* of his remembered Hfe, when he was us 
only seven years old, Baldassarre had rescued him from blows, 
had taken him to a home that seemed like opened Paradise, 
where there was sweet food and soothing caresses, all had on 
Baldassarre's knee ; and from that time till the hour they had 
parted Tito had been the one centre of Baldassarre's fatherly 1=0 
cares. 

Well, he had been docile, pliable, quick of apprehension, ready 
to acquire : a very bright, lovely boy ; a youth of even splendid 
grace, who seemed quite without vices, as if that beautiful form 
represented a vitality so exquisitely poised and balanced that it i^s 
could know no uneasy desires, no unrest — a radiant presence 
for a lonely man to have won for himself. If he were silent 
when his father expected some response, still he did not look 
moody; if he declined some labor — why, he flung himself down 
with such a charming, half - smiling, half - pleading air that the 13° 
pleasure of looking at him made amends to one who had watch- 
ed his growth with a sense of claim and possession : the curves 
of Tito's mouth had ineffable good-humor in them. And then 
the quick talent, to which everything came readily, from philo- 
sophic systems to the rhymes of a street ballad caught up at a 135 
hearing ! Would any one have said that Tito had not made due 
return to his benefactor, or that his gratitude and affection would 
fail on any great demand .'' He did not admit that his gratitude 
had failed ; but it was not certain that Baldassarre was in slav- 
ery, not certain that he was living. 140 

" Do I not owe something to myself ?" said Tito, inwardly, 
with a slight movement of his shoulders, the first he had made 



Literary Analysis. — 115-121. Far . . . cares. What adverbial phrase and 
clause modify "had rescued?" — What simile in this sentence ? — Grammatical 
construction of " had " (118) ? 

122, 123. docile . . . acquire. Discriminate between "docile" and "pliable." 
Is there any difference of meaning between " quick of apprehension " and 
"ready to acquire ?" May a charge of tautology here be justly made .'' 

124. as if. Query as to this collocation of words. 

127-133. If . . . them. What is the figure of speech.' 

I33~I36- And. . . hearing! What kind of sentence grammatically.'' Express 
the meaning in full- 

138-146. He . . . dead. State in your own words the sophism by which Tito 
imposed on himself. 



FROM ROMOLA. 6oi 

since he had turned to look down at the florins. " Before I quit 
everything, and incur again all the risks of which I am even now 
weary, I must at least have a reasonable hope. Am I to spend 145 
my life in a wandering search? I believe he is dead. Cennini 
was right about my florins : I will place them in his hands to- 
morrow." 

When, the next morning, Tito put this determination into act, 
he had chosen his color in the game, and had given an inevita- 150 
ble bent to his wishes. He had made it impossible that he. 
should not from henceforth desire it to be the truth that his fa- 
ther was dead; impossible that he should not be tempted to 
baseness rather than that the precise facts of his conduct should 
not remain forever concealed. iss 

Under every guilty secret there is hidden a brood of guilty 
wishes, whose unwholesome infecting life is cherished by the 
darkness. The contaminating effect of deeds often lies less in 
the commission* than in the consequent adjustment of our de- 
sires — the enlistment of our self-interest on the side of falsity; 160 
as, on the other hand, the purifying influence of public confes- 
sion springs from the fact that by it the hope in lies is forever 
swept away, and the soul recovers the noble attitude of sim- 
plicity. 

Besides, in this first distinct colloquy with himself the ideas 165 
which had previously been scattered and interrupted had now 
concentrated themselves : the little rills of selfishness had united 
and made a channel, so that they could never again meet with 
the same resistance. Hitherto Tito had left in vague indecision 
the question whether, with the means in his power, he would not 170 
return, and ascertain his father's fate ; he had now made a defi- 
nite excuse to himself for not taking that course ; he had avow- 
ed to himself a choice which he would have been ashamed to 



Literary Analysis. — 150. had chosen liis color in the game. What is the 
figure of speech ? On what is the metaphor founded ? 

1 51-155. He . . . concealed. Of what previous general statement is this the 
specific expression? Query as to "from henceforth." 

156-164. Under. .. simplicity. Change into a less metaphysical form of 
statement— On what is the metaphor implied in "brood" founded?— Is there 
any distinction between "infecting" and "contaminating?" 

167. the little rills, etc. How is the figure carried out ? 



6o2 ELIOT. 

avow to others, and which would have made him ashamed in the 
resurgent presence of his father. But the inward shame, the re- 175 
flex of that outward law which the great heart of mankind makes 
for every individual man — a reflex which will exist even in the 
absence of the sympathetic impulses that need no law, but rush 
to the deed of fidelity and pity as inevitably as the brute mother 
shields her young from the attack of the hereditary* enemy — iSo 
that inward shame was showing its blushes in Tito's determined 
assertion to himself that his father was dead, or that at least 
search was hopeless. 

TV- ^ ^ TV- ^ ^ 

Just as Tito reached the Ponte Vecchio and the entrance of 
the Via de' Bardi, he was suddenly urged back towards the angle iSs 
of the intersecting streets. A company on horseback, coming 
from the Via Guicciardini, and turning up the Via de' Bardi, had 
compelled the foot-passengers to recede hurriedly. Tito had 
been walking, as his manner was, with the thumb of his right 
hand resting in his belt; and as he was thus forced to pause, 190 
and was looking carelessly at the passing cavaliers,* he felt a 
very thin cold hand laid on his. He started round, and saw the 
Dominican friar whose upturned face had so struck him in the 
morning. Seen closer, the face looked more evidently worn by 
sickness, and not by age ; and again it brought some strong but 195 
indefinite reminiscences to Tito. 

" Pardon me, but — from your face and your ring," said the 
friar, in a faint voice — " is not your name Tito Melema ?" 

" Yes," said Tito, also speaking faintly, doubly jarred by the 
cold touch and the mystery. He was not apprehensive or timid 200 
through his imagination, but through his sensations and percep- 
tions he could easily be made to shrink and turn pale like a 
maiden. 

"Then I shall fulfil my commission."* 



Literary Analysis.— 175. resurgent presence. Explain. 

181. showing its blushes. Express in plain terms. 

191. cavaliers. Etymology? 

200-204. He ... commission. Discriminate between "apprehensive" and 
" timid ;" between " sensation " and " perception ;" between " commission " 
(204) and "commission" (159). 



FROM ROMOLA. 603 

The friar put his hand under his scapulary, and, drawing out a 205 
small linen bag which hung round his neck, took from it a bit 
of parchment, doubled and stuck firmly together with some black 
adhesive substance, and placed it in Tito's hand. On the out- 
side was written, in Italian, in a small but distinct character — 

"■Tito Melema, aged twenty-three, with a dark, beatitiful face, long 210 
dark curls, the brightest smile, and a large onyx ring on his right 
forefinger r 

Tito did not look at the friar, but tremblingly broke open the 
bit of parchment. Inside, the words were : 

"'I am sold for a slave : I think they are going to take me to Anti- 215 
och. The gems alone will sei've to ransom me.'''' 

Tito looked round at the friar, but could only ask a question 
with his eyes. 

" I had it at Corinth," the friar said, speaking with difficulty, 
like one whose small strength had been sorely taxed — "I had it 220 
from a man who was dying." 

" He is dead, then ?" said Tito, with a bounding of the heart. 

" Not the writer. The man who gave it me was a pilgrim,* 
like myself, to whom the writer had intrusted it, because he was 
journeying* to Italy." 225 

" You know the contents .''" 

" I know them not, but I conjecture them. Your friend is in 
slavery — you will go and release him. But I cannot say more 
at present." The friar, whose voice had become feebler and 
feebler, sank clown on the stone bench against the wall from 230 
which he had risen to touch Tito's hand. 

" I am at San Marco ; my name is Fra Luca." 

When Fra Luca had ceased to speak, Tito still stood by him 
in irresolution, and it was not till, the pressure of the passengers 
being removed, the friar rose and walked slowly into the church 235 
of Santa Felicita, that Tito also went on his way along the Via 
de' Bardi. 



Literary Analysis. — 217, 218. ask a question with his eyes. Explain. 

And compare 

" Drink to me only with thine eyes. 
And I will drink with mine." 

223. pilgrini. Derivation ? 



6o4 ELIOT. 

" If this monk is a Florentine," he said to himself — " if he is 
going to remain at Florence, everything must be disclosed." He 
felt that a new crisis had come ; but he was not, for all that, too 240 
agitated to pay his visit to Bardo and apologize for his previous 
non-appearance. Tito's talent for concealment was being fast 
developed into something less neutral. It was still possible^ 
perhaps it might be inevitable — for him to accept frankly the 
altered conditions and avow Baldassarre's existence, but hard- 245 
ly without casting an unpleasant light backward on his original 
reticence as studied equivocation,* in order to avoid the fulfil- 
ment of a secretly recognized claim, to say nothing of his quiet 
settlement of himself and investment of his florins, when, it would 
be clear, his benefactor's fate had not been certified. It was, at 250 
least, provisionally wise to act as if nothing had happened ; and, 
for the present, he would suspend decisive thought: there was 
all the night for meditation, and no one would know the precise 
moment at which he had received the letter. 

So he entered the room on the second story, where Romola 255 
and her father sat among the parchment and the marble, aloof 
from the life of the streets on holidays as well as on common 
days, with a face just a little less bright than usual, from regret 
at appearing so late — a regret which wanted no testimony, since 
he had given up the sight of the Corso in order to express it — 260 
and then set himself to throw extra animation into the evening, 
though all the while his consciousness was at work like a ma- 
chine with complex action, leaving deposits quite distinct from 
the line of talk ; and, by the time he descended the stone stairs 
and issued from the grim door in the starlight, his mind had real- 265 
ly reached a new stage in its formation of a purpose. 

And when, the next day, after he was free from his professo- 
rial work, he turned up the Via del Cocomero towards the Con- 
vent of San Marco, his purpose was fully shaped. He was go- 
ing to ascertain from Fra Luca precisely how much he conject- 270 



Literary Analysis. — 242, 243. was being fast developed. Improve the 
form of expression. 

247. equivocation. Derivation ? 

255-266. So. . . purpose. Observe the remarkable concentration of thought 
in this sentence. 



FROM ROMOLA. 



605 



ured of the truth, and on what grounds he conjectured it ; and, 
further, how long he was to remain at San Marco. And on that 
fuller knowledge he hoped to mould a statement which would in 
any case save him from the necessity of quitting Florence. Tito 
had never had occasion to fabricate * an ingenious lie before : the 275 
occasion was come now — the occasion which circumstance never 
fails to beget on tacit falsity; and his ingenuity was ready. For 
he had convinced himself that he was not bound to go in search 
of Baldassarre. He had once said that on a fair assurance of 
his father's existence and whereabouts he would unhesitatingly 280 
go after him. But, after all, why was he bound to go ? What, 
looked at closely, was the end of all life but to extract the ut- 
most sum of pleasure } And was not his own blooming life a 
promise of incomparably more pleasure, not for himself only, but 
for others, than the withered, wintry life of a man who was past 285 
the time of keen enjoyment, and whose ideas had stiffened into 
barren rigidity ? Those ideas had all been sown in the fresh 
soil of Tito's mind, and were lively germs there ; that was the 
proper order of things — the order of Nature, which treats all ma- 
turity as a mere nidus * for youth. Baldassarre had done his 290 
work, had had his draught of life : Tito said it was his turn now. 
And the prospect was so vague : " I think they are going to 
take me to Antioch." Here was a vista ! After a long voyage, 
to spend months, perhaps years, in a search for which even now 
there was no guarantee that it would not prove vain ; and to 295 
leave behind at starting a life of distinction and love ; and to 
find, if he found anything, the old exacting companionship which 
was known by rote beforehand. Certainly the gems, and there- 
fore the florins, were, in a sense, Baldassarre's — in the nar- 
row sense by which the right of possession is determined in or- 300 
dinary affairs ; but in that larger and more radically natural view 
by which the world belongs to youth and strength, they were 



Literary Analysis. — 274-277. Tito . . . ready. What does circumstance 
never fail "to beget on tacit falsity?" Explain the expression "tacit falsity." 

277-291. For . . . now. State in your own words the conclusion that Tito 
had now reached, and the process by which he reached it. 

298-326. Certainly . . . tlieniselvesJ Express briefly the self-imposed sophis- 
tries of Tito. — Explain " A mere tangle of anomalous traditions and opinions " 
(308, 309). — Point out a metaphor in this passage. 



6o6 ELior. 

rather his who could extract the most pleasure out of them. 
That, he was conscious, was not the sentiment which the com- 
plicated play of human feelings had engendered in society. The 305 
men around him would expect that he should immediately apply 
those florins to his benefactor's rescue. But what was the sen- 
timent of society ? A mere tangle of anomalous traditions and 
opinions, that no wise man would take as a guide, except so far 
as his own comfort was concerned. Not that he cared for the 310 
florins, save, perhaps, for Romola's sake : he would give up the 
florins readily enough. It was the joy that was due to him and 
was close to his lips, which he felt he was not bound to thrust 
away from him and travel on thirsting. Any maxims that re- 
quired a man to fling away the good that was needed to make 315 
existence sweet were only the lining of human selfishness turned 
outward: they were made by men who wanted others to sacrifice 
themselves for their sake. He would rather that Baldassarre 
should not suffer ; he liked no one to suffer : but could any phi- 
losophy prove to him that he was bound to care for another's 320 
suffering more than for his own .'' To do so, he must have loved 
Baldassarre devotedly, and he did not love him. Was that his 
own fault .'' Gratitude ! seen closely, it made no valid claim. 
His father's life would have been dreary without him. Are we 
convicted of a debt to men for the pleasures they give them- 325 
selves .'' 

Having once begun to explain away Baldassarre's claim, Tito's 
thought showed itself as active as a virulent acid, eating its rap- 
id way through all the tissues of sentiment. His mind was des- 
titute of that dread which has been erroneously decried as if it 330 
were nothing higher than a man's animal care for his own skin : 
that awe of the Divine Nemesis* which was felt by religious pa- 
gans, and, though it took a more positive form under Christian- 
ity, is still felt by the mass of mankind simply as a vague fear 
at anything which is called wrong-doing. Such terror of the un- 335 
seen is so far above mere sensual cowardice that it will annihi- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 327-347. In the last paragraph select all the words 
of classical origin. It may be noted that George Eliot employs a large pro- 
portion of words of classical origin, only about eighty per cent, of her vocabu- 
lary being of Anglo-Saxon origin. Account for this from her intellectual 
traits. 



FROM ROMOLA. 



607 



late that cowardice : it is the initial recognition of a moral law 
restraining desire, and checks the hard, bold scrutiny of imper- 
fect thought into obligations which can never be proved to have 
any sanctity in the absence of feeling. " It is good," sing the 340 
old Eumenides* in ^schylus, "that fear should sit as the guar- 
dian of the soul, forcing it into wisdom — good that men should 
carry a threatening shadow in their hearts under the full sun- 
shine; else, how shall they learn to revere the right?" That 
guardianship may become needless ; but only when all outward 34s 
law has become needless — only when duty and love have united 
in one stream and made a common force. 



XL. 

THOMAS H. HUXLEY. 

1825. 




THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT IN MODERN THOUGHT. 

[Introduction. — The following extracts form the greater part of Huxley's 
lay sermon (9?z the Advisableness of Improving Natural Knowledge. The 
writings of Huxley furnish, perhaps, the most striking illustration of the mod- 



THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT IN MODERN THOUGHT. 609 

ern union of science with literature, a union that commends science to the 
great laity by a flowing treatment and the graces of style.] 

1. This time two hundred years ago — in the beginning of Jan- 
uary, 1666 — those of our forefathers who inhabited this great 
and ancient city took breath between the shocks of two fearful 
calamities :* one not quite past, although its fury had abated ; 
the other to come. 5 

2. Within a few yards of the very spot on which we are as- 
sembled, so the tradition runs, that painful and deadly malady, 
the plague, appeared in the latter months of 1664 ; and, though 
no new visitor, smote the people of ^rigland, and especially of 
her capital, with a violence unknown before, in the course of the 10 
following year. The hand of a master has pictured what hap- 
pened in those dismal months ; and in that truest of fictions. 
The History of the Plague Year., Defoe shows Death, with every 
accompaniment of pain and terror, stalking through the narrow 
streets of old London, and changing their busy hum into a si- is 
lence broken only by the wailing of the mourners of fifty thou- 
sand dead ; by the woful denunciations and mad prayers of fa- 
natics ; and by the madder yells of despairing profligates. 

3. But, about this time in 1666, the death-rate had sunk to 
nearly its ordinary amount ; a case of plague occurred only here 20 
and there, and the richer citizens who had flown from the pest 
had returned to their dwellings. The remnant of the people 



Literary Analysis. — 1-31. Paragraphs 1-4 form the introduction to the 
essay : to what class of composition does this exordium belong ? (See Def 
7.) — The pupil will observe the skill with which an exposition strictly scien- 
tific is introduced in such a way as to challenge the attention of non-scientific, 
or lay, readers. 

1-5. This . . . come. What kind of sentence rhetorically ? (See Def 58.)— 
Grammatical construction of "time?" (See Swinton's Nezu English Gram- 
mar, p. 105, ix.) By " this great . . . city," London will, of course, be under- 
stood.— What is the figure in " took breath ?" (See Def 20.)— Derivation of 
" calamity ?" 

13, 14. Death . . . stalking, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def. 
23.) 

16, 17. fifty thousand dead. Observe the effectiveness of the use of a specific 
number, in contrast with the method of indefinite statement, as many thousands 
of dead, ?nyriads of dead, etc. 

19. this time in 1666: i. e., in January, 1666. 

39 



6io HUXLEY. 

began to toil at the accustomed round of duty or of pleasure ; 
and the stream of city life bid fair to flow back along its old 
bed, with renewed and uninterrupted vigor. 25 

4. The newly kindled hope was deceitful. The great plague, 
indeed, returned no more ; but what it had done for the Lon- 
doners, the great fire, which broke out in the autumn of 1666, 
did for London ; and, in September of that year, a heap of ashes 
and the indestructible energy of the people were all that re- 3° 
mained of the glory of five sixths of the city within the walls. 

5. Our forefathers had their own ways of accounting for each 
of these calamities. They submitted to the plague in humility 
and in penitence, for they believed it to be the judgment of God. 
But towards the fire they were furiously indignant, interpreting 35 
it as the effect of the malice of man, — as the work of the Re- 
publicans, or of the Papists, according as their prepossessions 
ran in favor of loyalty or of Puritanism. 

6. It would, I fancy, have fared but ill with one who, standing 
where I now stand, in what was then a thickly peopled and 40 
fashionable part of London, should have broached to our ances- 
tors the doctrine which I now propound to you — that all their 
hypotheses were alike wrong ; that the plague was no more, in 
their sense, Divine judgment, than the fire was the work of any 
political, or of any religious, sect ; but that they were themselves 45 
the authors of both plague and fire, and that they must look to 
themselves to prevent the recurrence of calamities, to all appear- 
ance so peculiarly beyond the reach of human control — so evi- 
dently the result of the wrath of God or of the craft and sub- 
tlety of an enemy. ... 50 



Literary Analysis. — 24. the stream, etc. What is the figure of speech } 
(See Def. 20.) Show how the metaphor is carried out. 

26-31. The . . . walls. In that delicate art, the transition from paragraph to 
paragraph, Huxley rivals Macaulay. An illustration is presented in paragraph 
4, in which the anticipative thought in the previous paragraph is generalized 
in the first sentence, and specialized in the second. 

35. But tonards the Are, etc. Remark on the order of words, with reference 
to the object of emphasis. 

39-50. It . . . enemy. The sentence constituting paragraph 4 should be 
studied both as regards structure and matter : it is a fine example of the max- 
imum of thought in the minimum of words. 



THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT IN MODERN THOUGHT. 6n 

7. Some twenty years before the outbreak of the plague, a few 
calm and thoughtful students banded themselves together for 
the purpose, as they phrased it, of " improving natural knowl- 
edge." The ends they proposed to attain cannot be stated more 
clearly than in the words of one of the founders of the organiza- 55 
tion : " Our business was (precluding matters of theology and 
state affairs) to discourse and consider of philosophical enquir- 
ies, and such as related thereunto : — as Physick, Anatomy, Ge- 
ometry, Astronomy, Navigation, Staticks, Magneticks, Chymicks, 
Mechanicks, and Natural Experiments ; with the state of these 60 
studies and their cultivation at home and abroad. We then dis- 
coursed of the circulation of the blood, the valves in the veins, 
the vencz lactece, the lymphatic vessels, the Copernican hypothe- 
sis, the nature of comets and new stars, the satellites of Jupiter, 
the oval shape (as it then appeared) of Saturn, the spots on the 65 
sun and its turning on its own axis, the inequalities and selenog- 
raphy* of the moon, the several phases of Venus and Mercury, 
the improvement of telescopes and grinding of glasses for that 
purpose, the weight of air, the possibility or impossibility of va- 
cuities and nature's abhorrence thereof, the Torricellian experi-70 
ment in quicksilver, the descent of heavy bodies and the degree 
of acceleration therein, with divers other things of like nature, 
some of which were then but new discoveries, and others not so 
generally known and embraced as now they are ; with other 
things appertaining to what hath been called the New Philos- 75 
phy, which, from the times of Galileo at Florence, and Sir Fran- 
cis Bacon (Lord Verulam) in England, hath been much culti- 
vated in Italy, France, Germany, and other parts abroad, as 
well as with us in England." The learned Dr. Wallis, writing in 
1696, narrates, in these words, what happened half a century be- 80 
fore, or about 1645. The associates met at Oxford, in the rooms 
of Dr. Wilkins, who was destined to become a bishop ; and sub- 



LiTERARY Analysis. — 51-54. Some , . . knowledge. What kind of sentence 
rhetorically.? Change into the direct order. 

58-60. as Physick . . . Experiments. The author is here citing, verbatim et 
literatim, the language used by Dr. Wallis in setting forth the aims and pro- 
cedure of the Royal Society : pupils will give the modern orthography and 
forms of words. The whole paragraph deserves careful study as outlining 
the state of science in the middle of the 17th century. 



6i2 HUXLEY. 

sequently coming together in London, they attracted the notice 
of the king. . . . 

8. Thus it was that the half-dozen young men, studious of the ss 
*' New Philosopliy," who met in one another's lodgings in Ox- 
ford or in London, in the middle of the seventeenth century, 
grew in numerical and in real strength, until, in its latter part, 
the "Royal Society for the Improvement of Natural Knowl- 
edge " had already become famous, and had acquired a claim 90 
upon the veneration of Englishmen, which it has ever since re- 
tained, as the principal focus* of scientifie activity in our islands, 
and the chief champion of the cause it was formed to support. 

9. It was by the aid of the Royal Society that Newton pub- 
lished his Frincipia. If all the books in the world except the 95 
Philosophical Transactions were destroyed, it is safe to say that 
the foundations of physical science would remain unshaken, and 
that the vast intellectual progress of the last two centuries would 
be largely, though incompletely, recorded. Nor have any signs 

of halting or of decrepitude* manifested themselves in our own 100 
times. As in Dr. Wallis's days, so in these, " our business is, 
precluding theology and state affairs, to discourse and consider 
of philosophical enquiries." But our " Mathematick " is one 
which Newton would have to go to school to learn ; our " Stat- 
icks, Mechanicks, Magneticks, Chymicks, and Natural Experi- 105 
ments " constitute a mass of physical and chemical knowledge, 
a glimpse at which would compensate Galileo for the doings of 
a score of inquisitorial cardinals ; our " Physick " and " Anat- 
omy" have embraced such infinite varieties of being, have laid 
open such new worlds in time and space, have grappled, not un- no 



Literary Analysis. — 89. Koyal Society, etc. Note that the designation of 
the " Royal Society " suggests the title of Huxley's essay. 

92. focus. Etymology.? 

94, 95. Newton . . . Priiicipla. Write a short biographical sketch of Newton, 
and state briefly the subject of the Pi-iiicipia. 

9S~99- If ••• recorded. What kind of sentence grammatically? Rhetori- 
cally? — On what is the metaphor in "foundations . . . unshaken" based? 

104. would have to go, etc. What inference do you draw from this respect- 
ing the advance of mathematics ? 

107, 108. Galileo . . . cardinals. Explain the histjDiical allusion. 



THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT IN MODERN THOUGHT. 613 

successfully, with such complex problems, that the eyes of Vesa- 
lius and of Harvey might be dazzled by the sight of the tree 
that has grown out of their grain of mustard seed. . . . 

10. We have learned that pestilences will only take up their 
abode among those who have prepared unswept and ungarnished 115 
residences for them. Their cities must have narrow, unwatered 
streets, foul with accumulated garbage.* Their houses must be 
ill-drained, ill-lighted, ill-ventilated. Their subjects must be ill- 
washed, ill-fed, ill-clothed. The London of 1665 was such a city. 
The cities of the East, where plague has an enduring dwelling, 120 
are such cities. We, in later times, have learned somewhat of 
Nature, and partly obey her. Because of this partial improve- 
ment of our natural knowledge and of that fractional obedience, 
we have no plague ; because that knowledge is still very imper- 
fect and that obedience yet incomplete, typhus* is our companion 123 
and cholera* our visitor. But it is not presumptuous to express 
the belief that, when our knowledge is more complete and our 
obedience the expression of our knowledge, London will count 
her centuries of freedom from typhus and cholera, as she now 
gratefully reckons her two hundred years of ignorance of that 130 
plague which swooped upon her thrice in the first half of the 
seventeenth century. 

11. Surely, there is nothing in these explanations which is not 
fully borne out by the facts ? Surely, the principles involved in 
them are now admitted among the fixed beliefs of all thinking 135 



Literary Analysis. — iii, 112. of Vesalius. Who was Vesalius, and what 
contribution to anatomy did he make? Who was Harvey, and what great 
truth did he demonstrate ? 

112, 113. tree that has grown, etc. What is the allusion? 

115. unswept, etc. What is the allusion? 

1x6. Their cities. Explain. 

117. garbage. Etymology? 

122-126. Because . . . visitor. Separate into two sentences. — Etymology of 
"cholera?" 

128. London will count, etc. What form of metonymy is this? (See Def. 
29, 4.) 

133-140. Surely . . . them \ To what type, grammatically considered, do 
these sentences belong ? What is the effect of the use of the interrogative 
form ? Change to the declarative form, and note if equal effectiveness would 
be attained. 



6i4 HUXLEY. 

men ? Surely, it is true that our countrymen are less subject to 
fire, famine, pestilence, and all the evils which result from a want 
of command over and due anticipation of the course of Nature, 
than were the countrymen of Milton ; and health, wealth, and 
well-being are more abundant with us than with them ? But no mo 
less certainly is the difference due to the improvement of our 
knowledge of Nature, and the extent to which that improved 
knowledge has been incorporated with the household words of 
men, and has supplied the springs of their daily actions. 

12. Granting for a moment, then, the truth of that which the 14s 
depredators of natural knowledge are so fond of urging, that its 
improvement can only add to the resources of our material civ- 
ilization ; admitting it to be possible that the founders of the 
Royal Society themselves looked for no other reward than this, 

I cannot confess that I was guilty of exaggeration* when I hinted 150 
that to him who had the gift of distinguishing between promi- 
nent events and important events, the origin of a combined ef- 
fort on the part of mankind to improve natural knowledge might 
have loomed larger than the Plague and have outshone the glare 
of the Fire ; as a something fraught with a wealth of beneficence 155 
to mankind, in comparison with which the damage done by those 
ghastly evils would shrink into insignificance. 

13. It is very certain that, for every victim slain by the Plague, 
hundreds of mankind exist, and find a fair share of happiness in 
the world, by the aid of the spinning-jenny.* And the Great Fire, 160 
at its worst, could not have burned the supply of coal, the daily 
working of which, in the bowels of the earth, made possible by 
the steam-pump, gives rise to an amount of wealth to which the 
millions lost in old London are but as an old song. 

14. But spinning- jenny and steam -pump are, after all, but 165 



Literary Analysis.— 144. has supplied. What is the figure of speech ? 
(See Def. 20.) 

145-1^7. Granting ... iiisigniflc.aiice. To what class rhetorically does this 
fine sentence belong? (See Def. ,58.) — Etymology of "exaggeration" (150) ? 
— What do you take to be the distinction between ''prominent events and im- 
portant events " (151, 152) .'' 

154. and have outshone, etc. What is the figure of speech ? (See Def 20.) 

160. spinning-jenny. Etymology? Who invented this machine? Give a 
brief sketch of his life. 



THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT IN MODERN THOUGHT. 615 

toys, possessing an accidental value ; and natural knowledge 
creates multitudes of more subtle* contrivances, the praises of 
which do not happen to be sung because they are not directly 
convertible into instruments for creating wealth. . . . 

15. I cannot but think that the foundations of all natural 170 
knowledge were laid when the reason of man first came face to 
face with the facts of Nature : when the savage first learned that 
the fingers of one hand are fewer than those of both ; that it is 
shorter to cross a stream than to head it ; that a stone stops 
where it is unless it be moved, and that it drops from the hand 175 
which lets it go ; that light and heat come and go with the sun ; 
that sticks burn away in a fire ; that plants and animals grow 
and die ; that if he struck his fellow-savage a blow, he would 
make him angry, and perhaps get a blow in return ; while if he 
offered him a fruit, he would please him, and perhaps receive a 180 
fish in exchange. When men had acquired this much knowl- 
edge, the outlines, rude though they were, of mathematics, of 
physics, of chemistry, of biology, of moral, economical, and po- 
litical science, were sketched. Nor did the germ of religion fail 
when science began to bud. Listen to words which, though new, 185 
are yet three thousand years old : 

"... When in heaven the stars about the moon 
Look beautiful, when all the winds are laid, 
And every height comes out, and jutting peak 
And valley, and the immeasurable heavens 190 

Break open to their highest, and all the stars 
Shine, and the shepherd gladdens in his heart." 

If the half-savage Greek could share our feelings thus far, it is 
irrational to doubt that he went further, to find, as we do, that 
upon that brief gladness there follows a certain sorrow, — the 195 
little light of awakened human intelligence shines so mere a 
spark amidst the abyss of the unknown and unknowable; seems 



Literary Analysis. — 1 70-181. I ... exchange. What kind of sentence 
grammatically .^ 

182-184. outlines . . . sketched. What figure is here implied ? (See Def. 
20.) 

184, 185. germ . . . bud. What is the figure ? On what is the metaphor 
founded ? 

195. that brief gladness. What " brief gladness V 



6i6 HUXLEY. 

so insufficient to do more than illuminate the imperfections that 
cannot be remedied, the aspirations that cannot be realized, of 
man's own nature. But in this sadness, this consciousness of 200 
the limitation of man, this sense of an open secret which he can- 
not penetrate, lies the essence of all religion ; and the attempt 
to embody it in the forms furnished by the intellect is the origin 
of the higher theologies. 

16. Thus it seems impossible to imagine but that the founda-2os 
tions of all knowledge, secular or sacred, were laid when in- 
telligence dawned, though the superstructure remained for long 
ages so slight and feeble as to be compatible with the existence 
of almost any general view respecting the mode of governance 
of the universe. No doubt, from the first, there were certain 210 
phenomena which, to the rudest mind, presented a constancy of 
occurrence, and suggested that a fixed order ruled, at any rate, 
among them. I doubt if the grossest of fetich*-worshippers ever 
imagined that a stone must have a god within it to make it fall, 
or that a fruit had a god within it to make it taste sweet. With 215 
regard to such matters as these, it is hardly questionable that 
mankind from the first took strictly positive and scientific views. 

17. But, with respect to all the less familiar occurrences which 
present themselves, uncultured man, no doubt, has always taken 
himself as the standard of comparison, as the centre and meas- 220 
ure of the world ; nor could he well avoid doing so. And find- 
ing that his apparently uncaused will has a powerful effect in 
giving rise to many occurrences, he naturally enough ascribed 
other and greater events to other and greater volitions, and came 

to look upon the world, and all that therein is, as the product of 223 
the volitions of persons like himself, but stronger, and capable 
of being appeased or angered, as he himself might be soothed 
or irritated. Through such conceptions of the plan and work- 
ing of the universe all mankind have passed, or are passing. 



Literary Analysis. — 200-204. But ... theologies. Arrange in the direct 
order. — In this sentence point out an example of oxymoron. 

205-210. Thus . . . universe. In this sentence what word carries out the fig- 
ure in "foundations ?" 

213. fetich. Etymology? 

218-221. But ... so. What kind of sentence grammatically? Rhetori- 
cally ? 



THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT IIV MODERN THOUGHT. 617 

And we may now consider what has been the effect of the im-23c, 
provement of natural knowledge on the views of men who have 
reached this stage, and who have begun to cultivate natural 
knowledge with no desire but that of "increasing God's honor 
and bettering man's estate." 

18. For example : what could seem wiser, from a mere material 235 
point of view, more innocent, from a theological one, to an an- 
cient people, than that they should learn the exact succession of 
the seasons, as warnings for their husbandmen ; or the position 
of the stars, as guides to their rude navigators ? But what has 
grown out of this search for natural knowledge of so merely use- 240 
ful a character ? You all know the reply. Astronomy,* — which 

of all sciences has filled men's minds with general ideas of a 
character most foreign to their daily experience, and has, more 
than any other, rendered it impossible for them to accept the 
beliefs of their fathers. Astronomy, — which tells them that this 245 
so vast and seemingly solid earth is but an atom* among atoms, 
whirling, no man knows whither, through illimitable space ; which 
demonstrates that what we call the peaceful heaven above us is 
but that space, filled by an infinitely subtle matter whose par- 
ticles are seething and surging, like the waves of an angry sea ; 250 
which opens up to us infinite regions where nothing is known, 
or ever seems to have been known, but matter and force, oper- 
ating according to rigid rules ; which leads us to contemplate 
phenomena the very nature of which demonstrates that they 
must have had a beginning and that they must have an end, but 255 
the very nature of which also proves that the beginning was, to 
our conceptions of time, infinitely remote, and that the end is as 
immeasurably distant. 

19. But it is not alone those who pursue astronomy who ask 
for bread and receive ideas. What more harmless than the at- 260 
tempt to lift and distribute water by pumping it ; what more ab- 
solutely and grossly utilitarian ? But out of pumps grew the 



Literary Analysis. — 232. this stage. What "stage?" 
241. Astronomy. Derivation ? 

244, 245. the beliefs of their ftitliers. Show how this is expanded in the sub- 
sequent part of the paragraph. 
246. atom. Derivation ? 
259, 260. ask for bread, etc. What is the allusion } 



5i8 HUXLEY. 

discussions about Nature's abhorrence of a vacuum ; and then 
it was discovered that Nature does not abhor a vacuum, but that 
air has weight ; and that notion paved the way for the doctrine 265 
that all matter has weight, and that the force which produces 
weight is coextensive with the universe, — in short, to the theory 
of universal gravitation and endless force ; while learning how 
to handle gases led to the discovery of oxygen,* and to modern 
chemistry, and to the notion of the indestructibility of matter. 270 

20. Again, what simpler, or more absolutely practical, than the 
attempt to keep the axle of a wheel from heating when the wheel 
turns round very fast ? How useful for carters and gig-drivers 
to know something about this ; and how good were it, if any in- 
genious person would find out the cause of such phenomena, 275 
and thence educe a general remedy for them ! Such an ingen- 
ious person was Count Rumford ; and he and his successors have 
landed us in the theory of the persistence, or indestructibility, 

of force. And in the infinitely minute, as in the infinitely great, 
the seekers after natural knowledge, of the kinds called physical 280 
and chemical, have everywhere found a definite order and suc- 
cession of events which seem never to be infringed. 

21. And how has it fared with "Physick" and Anatomy.'' 
Have the anatomist, the physiologist, or the physician, whose 
business it has been to devote themselves assiduously to that 285 
eminently practical and direct end, the alleviation of the suffer- 
ings of mankind, — have they been able to confine their vision 
more absolutely to the strictly useful ? I fear they are worst 
offenders of all. For if the astronomer has set before us the in- 
finite magnitude of space, and the practical eternity of the dura- 290 
tion of the universe ; if the physical and chemical philosophers 
have demonstrated the infinite minuteness of its constituent 
parts, and the practical eternity of matter and of force ; and if 
both have alike proclaimed the universality of a definite and 
predicable order and succession of events, the workers in biol- 29s 



Literary Analysis. — 269. oxygen. Etymology? 

271-282. How many sentences in paragraph 20? To what type, grammati- 
cally and rhetorically, does each sentence belong ? — Who was Count Rum- 
ford (277)? 

284, 285. Have . . . themselves, etc. Query as to the plural number. 

289-297. For . . . own. What kind of sentence rhetorically? 



THE SCIENTIFIC SPIRIT IN MODERN THOUGHT 619 

ogy have not only accepted all these, but have added more 
startling theses of their own. For, as the astronomers discover 
in the earth no centre of the universe, but an eccentric speck, so 
the naturalists find man to be no centre of the living world, but 
one amidst endless modifications of life ; and as the astronomer 3°° 
observes the mark of practically endless time set upon the ar- 
rangements of the solar system, so the student of life finds the 
records of ancient forms of existence peopling the world for 
ages, which, in relation to human experience, are infinite. Fur- 
thermore, the physiologist finds life to be as dependent for its 305 
manifestation on particular molecular arrangements as any phys- 
ical or chemical phenomenon ■ and, wherever he extends his re- 
searches, fixed order and unchanging causation reveal them- 
selves, as plainly as in the rest of Nature. . . . 

22. Such are a few of the new conceptions implanted in our 310 
minds by the improvement of natural knowledge. Men have 
acquired the ideas of the practically infinite extent of the uni- 
verse and of its practical eternity ; they are familiar with the 
conception that our earth is but an infinitesimal fragment of that 
part of the universe which can be seen ; and that, nevertheless, 315 
its duration is, as compared with our standards of time, infinite. 
They have further acquired the idea that man is but one of in- 
numerable forms of life now existing in the globe, and that the 
present existences are but the last of an immeasurable series of 
predecessors. Moreover, every step they have made in natural 320 
knowledge has tended to extend and rivet in their minds the 
conception of a definite order of the universe — which is em- 
bodied in what are called, by an unhappy metaphor, the laws of 
Nature — and to narrow the range and loosen the force of men's 
belief in spontaneity, or in changes other than such as arise out 325 
of that definite order itself. 

23. Whether these ideas are well or ill founded is not the ques- 
tion. No one can deny that they exist, and have been the in- 
evitable outgrowth of the improvement of natural knowledge. 
And if so, it cannot be doubted that they are changing the form 33° 
of men's most cherished and most important convictions. 



Literary- Analysis. — 310-326. Such . . . itself. In paragraph 22 select all 
the words of classical origin. 



GLOSSARY. 



ABBREVIATIONS. 



adj., adjecth'e. 
A.-S., Anglo-Saxon. 
Fr., French, 
gen., genitive. 
Ger. , German. 
Goth., Gothic. 
Gr., Greek. 



Heb., Hebrew. 
It., Italian. 
Lat., Latin. 
L. Lat., Low (/. 

Latin, 
lit., literally, 
n., noun. 



medieval) 



O. Eng.,01d English. 
O. Fr., Old French, 
p. p., past participle, 
pers., person, 
pi., plural, 
sing., singular, 
v., verb. 



aboiniiiiible, Lat. abominabilis, from al> 
and omen, contrary to the omens, 
foreboding : detestable. 

absurd, Lat. absurdtis, from ab, from, 
and siirdus, deaf, lit. proceeding 
from one that is deaf, and hence 
incongruous : opposed to manifest 
truth. 

absurdity. .See absurd. 

abundance, YjAX.abundantia, from ab and 
tmda, a wave ; lit. an overflow : 
an overflowing fulness ; plen- 
teousness. 

address, v., Fr. adresser, from Lat. diri- 
gci-e {dis and regere), to arrange, 
set in array : to prepare. 

iidmire, Lat. admirari, from ad and 
mirari, to wonder at ; used by 
Bacon in its etymological sense. 

!ido, A.-S. rt, to, and do: bustle, trouble. 

aisle, O. Fr. aisle (Fr. aile), Lat. ala, a 
wing of a building : in Gothic ca- 
thedrals and churches, one of the 
lateral divisions of a building sep- 
arated from the middle of the nave 
by two rows of piers. 



Albion, an ancient or poetical name of 
England. The name "Albion" is 
derived from Lat. albiis, white, on 
account of the appearance of Eng- 
land's chalky cliffs. 

alchemist, Arabic al-kimia, alchemy 
(which, however, is thought to be 
ultimately from a Greek root che- 
vies, juice, liquid) : one who prac- 
tises alchemy. 

ambiguity, Lat. ambigiiits, from atnbi- 
gere (amb, around, and agere, to 
drive), to wander about with ir- 
resolute mind : doubtfulness or 
uncertainty. 

ambition, Lat. ambitio, from amb, 
around, and ire, to go, a going 
around, especially of candidates in 
Rome to solicit votes, and hence, 
primarily, desire for office : an 
eager desire for honor, superior- 
ity, or power. 

ambitious. See ambition. 

Amen, Heb. ai7ie7i, true : an expression 
used at the end of prayers, and 
meaning; So be it. 



622 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, 



annuity, L. Lat. aiimiitas, from anmcs, 
year : a sum of money payable 
yearly. 

iinon, adv., A.-S. an = in, and on = one, 
that is, in one minute : hence soon. 

anonymous, Lat. anonynms, from Gr. 
anonnmos, without a name {an, 
privative, and onimia, name ) : 
nameless. 

antic, adj., Lat. antiqjms, old, ancient. 
Used in this primary sense by 
Milton. Then, since what is old 
and old-fashioned is liable to be 
thought of as odd, it came to mean 
fantastic, grotesque. 

Aplirodite, Gr. Aphrodite, the Greek 
name for Lat. Vemts, frorii aphros, 
the foam of the sea. Cupid (Gr. 
Eros) was her son, "her boy." 

apothecary, Gr. apotheke, repository 
(from apo, away, and tithenai, to 
put) : one who sells drugs. In 
England apothecaries also pre- 
scribe for diseases, acting as sub- 
physicians. 

apparel, v., Fr. appareil, provision, fur- 
nishing : to clothe, to attire. 

argent, Lat. argenhim, silver : resem- 
bling silver, hence bright. 

armistice, Fr. ai'inistice, from Lat. anna, 
arms, and stare, to stand still : sus- 
pension of hostilities by agree- 
ment ; a truce. 

askance, Dutch schuins, sideways : ob- 
liquely. 

astronomy, Gr. astron, constellation, 
star, and nemein, to regulate (^no- 
mos, law or rule ) : the science 
which treats of the celestial bod- 
ies. 

atheist, Gr. a, without, Theos, God : one 
who denies the existence of a God. 

atom, Gr. atomos {a = un, and toinos = 
cut) : an ultimate, indivisible par- 
ticle. 

atoning, adj., A.-S. at and one : to cause 
to be at one, to reconcile. In this 



transitive use and sense the word 
is obsolete. 
atrabiliar, L. Lat. atj-abiliaris, from 
Lat. atra, black, and bilis, bile : 
affected with melancholy. 
audience, Lat. audientia, a hearing, from 
audire, to hear : the act of hear- 
ing ; admittance to a hearing. 
augur, v., Lat. n. augur, a Roman of- 
ficer who pretended to foretell 
future events by the flight, sing- 
ing, etc., of birds {avis), or by oth- 
er celestial objects : to betoken. 
Augur differs in meaning from 
betoken : persons or things augur ; 
things only betoken. 
author, Lat. anctor, from augere, to in- 
crease, to produce : the composer 
of a book. 
awe, n., A.-S. oga or aige, dread : rev- 
erential fear. 

Syn. Atve — dread — revet'ence. 
Awe is a mixed feeling of 
Sublimity and fear in view of 
something great or terrible. 
Dread is strowg pei'sonal fear 
in view of something terrible. 
Reverence is a strong senti- 
ment of respect, generally 
mingled slightly with fear. 

bane, v., A.-S. bana, destruction : to 

poison. The verb is obsolete. 
barb, contracted from Barhary : a 

horse of the Barbary stock noted 

for speed. 
barbarian, Lat. barbarus, Gr. barbaros, 

foreign : an uncivilized person. 
bass, Fr. basse, deep, low : deep or 

grave in sound. 
bay, v., Fr. aboyer, to bark : to bark at. 
beam, A.-S. beam, a beam : a shaft of 

rays. 
bedight. See dight. 
beholding, beholden (= holden, i. e. held 

or bound in gratitude) : obliged. 

"Beholding" is the all but uni- 



GLOSSARY. 



623 



form spelling in the early copies 
of Shakespeare, though the more 
correct form beholden was in use 
before that poet's time. 

bestead, A.-S. be and stead, to help, as- 
sist : to help, avail. 

betwixt, A.-S. betwixt, from be, by, and 
twig, two : between. 

bombast, Lat. bonibax, the cotton-plant. 
As " bombast" was originally used 
for stuffing out clothes, it passed 
by metaphor to mean swollen or 
inflated language. 

boon, Lat. bonus, good, lit. that which 
is asked as a benefit : a gift, a 
grant. 

bower, from A.-S. bur, a cottage. In 
this literal sense it is used by 
Milton, and not in its modern 
meaning of an arbor. It had also 
in early times the signification of 
a chamber or lodging-place ; and 
in this sense the word is used by 
Gray. 

bridegroom, A.-S. brydgnma, a man 
newly married or about to be 
married. 

buffoon, Fr. botiffon, from bouffer, to puff 
out, because the buffoons puffed 
out their cheeks : a mountebank, 
clown. 

bully, v., O. Eng. bully, to boil : to act 
the part of a bully, a blustering 
fellow. 

butler, O. Fr. boicteillier, from boiiteille, 
a bottle, lit. a bottle-bearer or cup- 
bearer : a servant or officer in a 
household whose principal busi- 
ness is to take charge of the liq- 
uors, plate, etc. 

buttress, Fr. bolder, to push, to butt : 
a projecting support to the ex- 
terior of a wall. 

cadence, Lat. cadentia, from cadere, to 
fall : a regular fall or modulation 
of sound. 



calamity, Lat. calamitas, loss, misfort- 
une, injury, lit. the injury of crops, 
from calemiis, reed, any straw of 
grain, stalk, blade : an event or a 
disaster producing extensive evil. 

calendar, Lat. calendarium, an account- 
book : an arrangement of the di- 
visions of time. 

candid, Lat. candidus, from catidere, to 
be of a glowing white : fair, just, 
impartial. 

canonize, L. Lat. cajionizare, from Lat. 
canon, a list or roll : to place upon 
the catalogue of saints. 

canopy, Gr. konopeion, a net of gauze to 
keep off knats (konops, gnat) : a 
covering over a throne or over a 
bed. 

cavalier, Fr. cavalier, a horseman, from 
Lat. caballits, a horse : a knight, a 
gallant gentleman. 

censure, v., Lat. censere, to value : to 
form or express a judgment of; 
to criticise, to estimate. In this 
sense used by Shakespeare, but 
now obsolete. 

Cerberus, Lat. Cerberus, Gr. Kerberos : 
a monster in the shape of a dog 
guarding the entrance into the in- 
fernal regions. 

chance, n., through Fr. chance, from 
Lat. cadere, to fall : hence what 
befalls, and so fate, fortune. 

chapel. See chaplain. 

chaplain, Fr. chapelain, L. Lat. capella- 
niis, from capella, a hood, sacred 
vessel, chapel. It is said that 
the kings of France, in war, car- 
ried into the field St. Martin's 
hat, which was kept in a tent as 
a precious relic, whence the place 
took the name capella, a little hat, 
and the priest who had the cus- 
tody of the tent was called capel- 
lanns, chaplain. 

chami, Fr. charme, Lat. carmen, song, 
chant. 



624 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



children, A.-S. cild, pi. cildru, cildra. 
The word is a curious instance of a 
double plural (= child + ra + en). 

cholera, Gr. cholera, from chole, bile : a 
disease characterized by vomiting 
and purging. 

chorister, Fr. choriste, a singer in a 
choir, from Gr. ckoi'os, a choir. 

Christmas, from Christ, and L. Lat. 
missa, mass : the festival of the 
Christian Church observed annu- 
ally on December 25, in memory 
of the birth of Christ. 

cinctured, adj., Lat. cinctura, a girdle 
(from cingere, to gird) : having a 
cincture or girdle. 

civil, I^. Lat. civilis, from civis, a citi- 
zen : civilized, refined. This use 
of the word, as applied to a per- 
son, is obsolete. 

clarion, L. Lat. clario, from Lat. clarjis, 
clear, from its shrill sound : a 
kind of trumpet whose note is 
clear and shrill. 

clerk, Lat. dericus, priest : a parish of- 
ficer in the Church of England. 

cloister, O. Fr. cloistre, Lat. daustriim, 
from daudere, to shut, to close : 
a covered arcade in a monastic 
or collegiate establishment sur- 
rounding an inner quadrangular 
area of buildings ; a place of 
learned seclusion. 

coffer, Fr. coffre, from Lat. cophinics, 
Gr. kophinos, a basket, a chest : 
treasury or funds. 

cognizance, L. Lat. cogiioscentia, from 
Lat. cognoscere {con and noscere, 
to know ), to be acquainted : a 
badge worn by a retainer or de- 
pendent to indicate the person or 
party to which he belonged. 

coherent, Lat. co for con, with, and hce- 
rere, to stick : cleaving" together, 
and hence connected by some re- 
lation of order. 

commercing, Lat. commerciuni, from com 



( = con ), with, and nierx, niercis, 
merchandise : holding intercourse. 

commission, Lat. committere {com and 
mittere), to trust : i. The act of 
perpetrating ; 2. Something in- 
trusted to a person. 

commune, Lat. commimicare, to com- 
municate : to converse together 
familiarly. 

companion, Fr. comfagnon, from L. 
Lat. companium, fellowship, mess 
{com, together, panis, bread) : an 
associate, a comrade. 

company, the state of being a compan- 
ion (which see) : fellowship. 

compass, v., L. Lat. compassiis {cum and 
passiis, a pace or step), circle : to 
encircle, to environ. 

compensate, Lat. com {con), with, and 
pendere, pensum, to weigh ; to 
balance, to make equal return. 

compensation. See coinpeiisate. 

conceit. It. concetto, from Lat. conceptus, 
{con and capere, to take), lit. some- 
thing conceived : used by John- 
son in the sense of quaint fancy. 

congenial, Lat. co?tgenialis, partaking 
of the same nature : kindred, 
sympathetic. 

consent, Lat. con, together, and sentire, 
to feel : sympathy, accord. Used 
by Milton in this its etymological 
sense. 

conspirator, Lat. conspirator, from con- 
spirare, to blow together, to agree, 
to plot : one who conspires with 
others for an evil purpose. 

contract, Lat. contractus, from con and 
trahere, to draw together : an 
agreement, a covenant. 

convineement, a hybrid word com- 
pounded of a Latin root, convince 
(from convincere, to conquer), and 
an A.-S. suffix. It is now super- 
seded by the form conviction. 

cope, A.-S. ceapan, to trade : to requite. 

copse, contraction of coppice, from O. 



GLOSSARY. 



625 



Fr. copeiz, from conper, to cut, be- 
cause originally a wood of small 
growth cut for fuel : a wood of 
small growth. 

corn, A.-S. corn, grain: used by Bun- 
yan in the sense of wheat. 

coronaljXat. coronalis, belonging to the 
crown {corona) : a garland. 

coronet, Lat. corona,, a crown : an in- 
ferior crown worn by noblemen. 

corpse, Lat. corpus, lit. a body, whether 
living or dead : the dead body of 
a human being. In the first folio 
of Shakespeare the word is spelled 
cor pes. Another form of the word, 
still used, is corse. 

corse. See corpse. 

covert, n., O. Fr. covrir, to cover {cov- 
ert, covered) : a place where ani- 
mals hunted in the chase find 
cover. 

crafty, A.-S. craft, strength, art: used 
by Bacon in the sense of merely 
practical. 

creiv, O. Eng. criie, from Fr. crue, in- 
crease or gathering. The primi- 
tive meaning is company, and in 
this sense it is used by Milton. 
In modern usage, except when 
employed to designate a ship's 
company, it usually has a deroga- 
tory implication. 

crosier, Fr. croix (= Lat. crux), aJ 
cross : the official staff of an 
archbishop, terminating at the 
top in a cross. 

crusade, Fr. croisade, from croix {cricx), 
the cross : a military expedition 
undertaken in the Middle Ages to 
recover the Holy Land from the 
Mohammedans. The crusaders 
wore a cross on their breasts. 

crusader. See crusade. 

cucumber, O. Fr. coucombre (now con- 
combre), Lat. cucumis, gen. cucu- 
meris : a well-known plant and 
its fruit, of the genus cucumis. 
40 



curfew, Fr. couvrir, to cover, and feu, 
fire : the bell-ringing at nightfall 
practised in olden times as a 
signal to cover fires, extinguish 
lights, and retire to rest. 

curiously, Lat. cui-iostis, careful, from 
ctira, care : carefully. In this 
sense it is used by Bacon. The 
modern meanings are extensions 
of this primary signification : thus, 
to be curious about a thing is to 
be careful or anxious to learn 
about it, and a curious object is 
one that excites careful attention. 

cynosure, from Lat. cynosura (Gr. kuno- 
sotcra, lit. dog's tail), the ancient 
name for the constellation of the 
Lesser Bear. To this, as contain- 
ing the pole-star, the eyes of mar- 
iners are directed ; and hence the 
meaning of cynosure, as denoting 
any object that strongly attracts 
attention. 

decent, Lat. decens, decentis, becoming, 
modest : used by Milton in its 
etymological sense. 

decrepitude, Lat. decreptus, lit. noised 
out, noiseless, applied to old peo- 
ple who creep about quietly, from 
de and crepare, crepitare, to make 
a noise, to rattle : the broken state 
produced by decay and the infirm- 
ities of age. 

deliberation, Lat. deliberare, to weigh, 
from de and libra, a balance : 
careful consideration. 

demean, Lat. niinare, to drive : to be- 
have. This is the proper use of 
the word. The employment of it 
as synonymous with to lower, de- 
grade, is founded on a mistaken 
notion that the word is connected 
with meaji, which it nowise is. 

demure, O. Fr. ^1? (bonnes^ murs (=Fr. 
mceurs), lit. of good manners : dec- 
I orous. 



626 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



dessert, Fr. dessert, from desservire, to 
remove from table : the last course 
at table. 

deviate, Lat. devia^'e, deviatum ( via, 
way), to go out of one's way : to 
wander. 

diary, Lat. diariicni, from dies, a day : a 
daily record. 

diastole, Gr. diastole, from dia, through, 
and stellein : the dilatations of the 
heart and arteries. 

dickens, a contraction of the diminu- 
tive devilkiiis. 

digest, Lat. digerere, digesttim, to sep- 
arate, to dissolve, from di (= dis), 
apart, and gere^-e, to bear : to ar- 
range methodically. 

diglit, A.-S. dihtan, to arrange or ar- 
ray : dressed, adorned. 

dilapidation, Lat. dilapidare, to scatter 
like stones, from di {= dis) and 
lapis, gen. lapidis, a stone : state 
of being reduced to decay. 

dint, A.-S. dyiit, stroke, blow : impres- 
sion. 

discourage, prefix dis, with a privative 
force, and Fr. courage, from Fr. 
cceur, Lat. cor, the heart : to dis- 
hearten. 

discourse, v., Lat. discurrere, discursum, 
to run to and fro : to carry on the 
act of reasoning. 

discover, Fr. decouvrir, to uncover ; 
hence primarily to show, and sec- 
ondarily to reveal, to find out : 
used by Bunyan in its primary 
sense. 

dissidence, Lat. dissidere, from dis, apart, 
and sedere, to sit, hence to dis- 
agree : disagreement, dissent. 

ditty, A.-S. diht, said, repeated : a lit- 
tle poem intended to be sung. 

divinity, Lat. divi^iitas, from divinics, 
deiis, God : used by Addison in 
the sense of theology, of which 
word it is etymologically an exact 
synonym (Lat. deiis=Qx. theos). 



document, Lat. doctimentum, from do- 
ce)-e, to teach : anything furnish- 
ing proof or evidence. 

dole, A.-S. dcelaji, to divide : to deal 
out in small portions. 

dualism, Lat. diialis, from duo, two : 
doubleness. 

dudgeon, Welsh dygen, anger, grudge : 
discord. 

ecstasy, Gr. ekstasis (from ex, out, and 
istanai, to set), a rapt condition 
of mind : rapture. 

efflgy, Lat. effigies, from e (= ex) and 
fingere, to shape out : the image 
or likeness of a person. 

effluvium, pi. effluvia, Lat. effluere (from 
^for ex, out, 2LX\di. fluere, to flow) : 
subtle or invisible emanation. 

endorser, Lat. dorsum, the back : one 
who writes on the back of a 
promissory note, as evidence of 
responsibility. 

ensign, from Lat. insigne {in and sig- 
num, a sign) : a badge or flag. 

enthusiast, Gr. enthousiastes, from e7t, 
in, and theos, a god, lit. one who 
believed himself moved by a di- 
vinity : one whose mind is wholly 
possessed by what engages it ; a 
zealot. 

envy, Lat. invidia, from invidere, to 
look with enmity : used by Shake- 
speare in the specific signification 
of malice, ill-will. 

epicure, from the name Epicurus, the 
famous Greek philosopher who 
assumed pleasure to be the high- 
est good : a follower of Epi- 
curus. 

epitaph, Gr. epi, on, and taphos, a tomb : 
an inscription on a monument in 
memory of the dead. 

epitome, Gr. epitome, from epitemnein, 
to cut on the surface : an abridg- 
ment, a compendium. 

equivocation, Lat. eqiiivocare, from 



GLOSSARY. 



627 



mqinis, equal, and vox, sound or 
voice : ambiguity of speech. 

errant, Lat. erj'ans, errantis, from er- 
rare, to wander : wandering. 

esquire, Fr. eaiyer, from escic, ecu, shield, 
a shield - bearer, armor - bearer : 
the squire of a knight. 

ethereal (Lat. cether, from Gr. aithein, 
to burn or blaze) : pertaining to 
the ether, or celestial region ; ce- 
lestial. 

Eumeiiides, Gr. etmienides, the aveng- 
ing deities. 

Euphrosyne, Gr. Euphrosune, from eu- 
phrainein, to delight : one of the 
three Graces. 

exaggeration, Lat. exaggeratio, from ex 
and aggerare, to heap up : a rep- 
resentation beyond the truth ; a 
hyperbole. 

exclusionist, Lat. excluder e, exclusum, 
to exclude, from ex and claudere, 
to shut out : one who, etc. 

exility, Lat. exilis, slender, thin: fine- 
ness, thinness. This word, used 
by Dr. Johnson, is now obsolete. 

exit, lit. he goes out (3d pers. sing, 
pres. of Lat. v. exire, to go out) : 
the departure of a player from 
the stage, when he has performed 
his part. 

expatiate, Lat. expatiari {ex, out, and 
spatiari, to walk about) : to move 
at large. 

expert, Lat. experiri, expertus, to try or 
prove : ready. 

expiate, Lat. expiare, expiattim, to pu- 
rify with sacred rites, from pius, 
pious, devout : to atone for. 

extenuate, Lat. exteiiicare, from ex, out 
of, from, and tenuare, to make 
thin, from tenuis, thin: to lessen, 
to palliate. 

fabricate, Lat. fabricare, to make, from 
faber, an artificer : to devise 
falselv. 



fain, adv., A.-'&.fagen, glad : gladly. 

fanatic, 'L.zt. fanaticus, inspired by di- 
vinity, ivomfamcm, a fane or tem- 
ple : one who indulges wild and 
extravagant religious notions. 

fealty, \j2X.fidelitas, fidelity. In feudal 
times fidelity to one's lord ; now 
loyalty to a superior power. (See 
homage.) 

feature, Lat. factura, a making, from 
facere, to make : lit. form, "make," 
or structure. 

fellow, A-.S. felaw, horn, fylgau, to fol- 
low : a companion. 

fetich, Portuguese feitifo, sorcery, 
charm, from Lat. facticius, made 
by art : a material thing, living 
or dead, which is made the object 
of superstitious worship, as among 
certain African tribes. 

fictile, \^2it. fictilis , from fingere, fictum, 
to shape : manufactured by the 
potter. 

fiend, A.-S. fiend or feond, from fian, 
to hate, and hence lit. the hating 
one : a demon. 

flgnllne, Lat. figidus, a potter, from 
fingere, to shape : a piece of pot- 
tery representing some natural 
object. 

fianibeau, Yx.flamer, to flame, Lat.yZa- 
mula, a little flame : a torch. 

florin, Vi.fiorino, a Florentine coin, with 
a lily on it, from It.fiore (=; Lat. 
Jlos, fioris), flower : a silver coin 
of Florence first struck in the 
twelfth century. 

focus, Lat. focus, hearth, fire-place : a 
central point ; a point of concen- 
tration. 

fogy (uncertain etymology) : a dull old 
fellow. 

folio, ablative of 'L-Sit. folium, a leaf or 
sheet, and lit. z« a leaf or sheet 
(once folded) : a book made of 
sheets of paper each folded but 



628 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



fond, A.-S. fonne, to be foolish, to 
dote : foolish. 

forlorn, A.S.forloren, p. p. oi fo7'leosan, 
to lose : deserted, abandoned. 

fretted, A.-S. fratti, ornament : orna- 
mented with fretwork, or raised 
work. 

frieze, originally a woollen cloth or 
stuff from F?-icsland : a coarse 
woollen cloth. 

frolic, adj., G&x. frolik, frohlich, joyful : 
gay, merry. 

frolic, v., to be gay or merry. 

frounce, Fr. froncer, to wrinkle : to 
curl or frizzle the hair. 

fuliginous, Lat. fidigo, soot : smoky, 
dark, dusky. 

fustian, L. Lat. fustiammi, so called 
from Fostat or Fossat, i. e. Cairo, 
where it was made : a kind of 
coarse twilled cotton stuff. 

gambol, Fr. gambiller, from gambe ( = 
jambe), the leg, to kick about: 
a skipping or leaping about in 
frolic. 

garbage (O. Eng. garbask, properly 
that which is purged or cleansed 
away), from O. Fr. garber, to make 
neat : lit. the bowels of an animal ; 
hence the refuse animal and vege- 
table matter from a kitchen. 

garish, A.-S. gearn, prepared, showy: 
dazzling. 

glebe, Lat. gleba, clod, ground : soil, 
ground. 

gossip, A.-S. god, God, and sib, rela- 
tion ; a relation or sponsor in 
baptism : an idle tattler. 

grain, Lat. granum, the seed-like form 
of an insect, from which red dyes 
were prepared : used by Milton 
in the sense of a shade of pur- 
ple. 

grandiloquence, Lat. grandis, grand, and 
loqui, to speak : the use of lofty 
words or phrases ; bombast. 



gratis, adv., contracted from Lat. gra- 
tiis, out of favor or kindness : for 
nothing. 

grotesque, Fr. grotesque, It. grottesa, lit. 
like the figures found in grot- 
tos : whimsical ; of extravagant 
or irregular form. 

gust, n., Lat. giistus, taste : gratifica- 
tion, enjoyment. (Obsolete.) 

habit, Lat. habitus, state or dress (from 
habere, to have, be in a condi- 
tion) : used in the plural to sig- 
nify garments, dress. 

hale, v., to drag. The modern form is 
haul ; the word is connected with 
hail, to call, and so to fetch. The 
Dutch halejt has both meanings. 

hamlet, A.-S. ha7ti, home, house, and 
let, the diminutive termination : a 
small village. 

hassock, n., Scottish hassock, a large 
round turf used as a seat : a 
thick mat for kneeling on in 
church. 

hautboy, ii., Fr. hautbois (that is, haul, 
high, and bois, wood) : an oboe, or 
musical instrument of the clarinet 
type. 

hearse, Fr. herse, a harrow ; hence a 
kind of candlestick in the form 
of a harrow, having branches 
filled with lights and placed at 
the head of graves or cenotaphs ; 
whence hearse came to be used 
for the grave, coffin, or chest con- 
taining the dead. 

hearen, A.-S. hefan, to heave, and hence 
lit. that which is heaved or arched 
over us : used by Pope as a 
synonym of God. 

heraldry, O. Fr. herald, from Ger. he- 
rald, composed of two roots signi- 
fying one who serves the army : 
the art of recording genealogies 
and blazoning arms or ensigns 
armorial. 



GLOSSARY. 



629 



hereditary, Lat. heres, heredis, an heir : 
descended by inheritance. 

liigrht, p. p. of A.-S. hatan, to be called : 
was named. 

hobgoblin, hob, originally an abbrevia- 
tion of robin (Robin Goodfellow, 
a domestic sprite), 2C\\A. goblin, from 
L. Lat. gobelinus, a mischievous 
knave ( Ger. Kobold ) : a frightful 
apparition ; an imp. 

homage, through Fr. homage, from Lat. 
homo, a man. " Homo " under 
the feudal system had the sense 
of vassal : lit. the state of being a 
vassal under a lord, and hence 
reverential submission. 

Homage signifies reverential submis- 
sion to a superior ; fealty denotes 
a faithful adherence to the obh- 
gations we owe to superior au- 
thority. "We pay our homage to 
men of pre-eminent usefulness and 
virtue, and profess onr fealty to the 
principles by which they have been 
guided. " — Webster. 

homicide, n., Lat. homicidittm, from 
homo, a man, and ctsdere, to kill : 
lit. manslaughter (though, if felo- 
nious, it may be mui^der). By 
Milton it is used metaphorically. 

homily, Gr. homilia, communion, ser- 
mon : a serious discourse. 

honest, Lat. horieslus (one of the mean- 
ings of which is beautiful), from 
honor ( one of the meanings of 
which is beauty) : used by Dry- 
den in the special sense of beau- 
tiful, handsome. 

humor, Lat. humor, from humere, to be 
moist ; that is, lit., the fluids of 
the body. As the state of mind 
was in old times believed to de- 
pend on these fluids, the word 
acquired the force of disposition, 
temper, mood, with various allied 
meanings ; used by Bacon in the 
sense of disposition, whim. 

husbandry, A.-S. husbanda, the master 



of a house, through v. husband, to 
direct with prudence : manage- 
ment, thrift. 
hussy, contracted from huswife, house- 
wife : an ill-behaved woman or 
girl. 

impediment, Lat. impedimentum, from 
im (=in), 2in6. pes, pedis, the foot: 
obstruction. 

impugn, Lat. impiignare, from im ( = 
in), and pugnare, to fight : to call 
in question, gainsay. 

incongruous, Lat. in, not, and congruus 
( = congruous), from congruere, to 
agree : not befitting, unsuitable. 

inert, Lat. iners, from in, not, and ars, 
lit. unskilled : sluggish. 

infection, Lat. infectio, from inficere, 
to stain, infect : contamination. 
Contagioji means spreading by in- 
tercourse ; while infection signi- 
fies a more hidden and diffusive 
power. 

infinite, Lat. infinitus (from in, with- 
out, and finis, end) : without end, 
unlimited. 

insect, Lat. insectum, from insecure, in- 
sectum, to cut in ; originally given 
to small animals whose bodies 
seem to be ciit in, or almost di- 
vided. Coleridge wittily defined 
the insect as " life in sections.'''' 

insult, v., Lat. insultare, from in, and 
satire, to leap upon : to aff"ront. 

insuperable, Lat. insuperabilis, from su- 
per, over : not superable, not to 
be overpassed. 

integrate, Lat. integrare, to make entire, 
from integer, entire : to realize 
completely, to give full expres- 
sion ; to make one with. 

intenerate, Lat. in, and tener, soft, ten- 
der : to make tender, to soften. 
Rare. 

inter, Lat. in, in, and terra, the earth : 
to bury, to inhume. 



630 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



interrupt, Lat. interrumpere, mterriip- 
tum, to break in upon : to disturb. 

intuition, Lat. intuitio, insight, from /«, 
and tuere, to look upon : a trutli 
discovered by direct cognition. 
It is an exact etymological syn- 
onym of A.-S. insight. 

inundation. See inundate. 

in?entress, Lat. invent7'ix (in and ve- 
nire, to bring into use) : the fem- 
inine of inventor. 

The enlargement of the sphere of 
woman's work in modern times has 
led to the formation of a consider- 
able number of new feminine forms 
of nouns denoting occupations ; but 
" inventress " presents us with a 
noun of this class coined nearly two 
hundred years ago and yet not now 
in use. 

irksome, Scotch irk, to tire or weary : 
wearisome. 

jenny (spinning), said to have been so 
called by Arkwright after his wife, 
Jenny ; but according to a grand- 
son of Jacob Hargreaves, the in- 
ventor of the spinning-jenny, the 
word is a corruption Qi gin, a con- 
traction of engine : a machine for 
spinning used in manufactories. 

journey, v., Yx.jottrnee, a day's task or 
journey, from Lat. din7-nus, daily, 
dies, a day : to travel from place 
to place. 

joy, v., for enjoy. (Obsolete.) 

jubilee, 'Heh.yobel, the blast of a trum- 
pet, and the grand sabbatical year 
which was announced by sound 
of trumpet : festivity, joyfulness. 

junket (written z\s>o juncate), Lat._/V/«- 
cata, cream - cheese ; and thence 
extended to mean any kind of 
delicacy. Not in use. 

kerchiefed, Fr. convrir, to cover, and 

chef, the head— -hooded, covered. 
kye=kine, O. Eng. pi. of coro. 



labyrintli, Lat. labyrinthus, from Gr. 
laburinthos : any object or arrange- 
ment of an intricate or involved 
form. 

landscape, A.-S. landscipe, from land, 
land, and scipe (= suffix ship), 
shape, form : a portion of land or 
territory which the eye can com- 
prehend in a single view, includ- 
ing all the objects it contains. 

lantern, Fr. Iante7-ne, Lat. lanterna, la- 
terna : something enclosing a light. 
Sometimes spelled lanthorn. 

latent, Lat. latens, latentis (^pres. p. of 
latere, to lie hid) : hidden, secret. 

legacy, Lat. legare, to appoint by last 
will : a bequest. 

levity, Lat. levis, light, trifling : light 
behavior. 

lie, v., to reside — a use of the verb not 
now current. 

lineage, Fr. ligne (=:Lat. lined), a line, 
a race : descent in a line from a 
common ancestor. 

liyid, Lat. lividus, from livere, to be of 
a bluish color : black and blue, 
of a lead color, discolored. 

lo, interj., A.-S. Id, from imperative of 
look: behold. 

lubbar, equivalent to htbber, from lob: 
an unwieldy fellow. 

madding, A.-S. jnad, to be furious : tur- 
bulent, furious. 

magician, Gr. magikos, priestly, from an 
Oriental word signifying priest : 
one skilled in magic. 

magnetism, Gr. lithos magnetes, i. e., 
Magnesian stone, from Magnesia, 
a country in Thessaly: the agent 
or force in nature which gives 
rise to the phenomena of attrac- 
tion, polarity, etc., exhibited by 
the loadstone and other magnetic 
bodies. 

manifesto, It. manifesto, from Lat. mani- 
festus, that which is clearly visi- 



GLOSSARY. 



631 



ble : a public declaration, usual- 
ly of a prince or sovereign, show- 
ing his intentions respecting some 
act contemplated or done by 
him. 

mausion, Lat. niansio, a dwelling, from 
manere, to remain : an abode, 
usually of some pretension, but 
not so employed in Goldsmith. 

marquis, Fr. ?narquis, from Ger. mark, 
a border: a nobleman of a certain 
rank. 

martyrdom, martyr and A.-S. suffix dovi 
( martyr, from Lat. martyr, Gr. 
martiir, a witness) : the death of 
a martyr. 

massacre, n., through Fr. massacre, and 
ultimately from Ger. vtetzgern, 
metzgen, to butcher : the killing 
of human beings by indiscrimi- 
nate slaughter. Used metaphor- 
ically by Milton. 

massy, relating to a mass. 

mast, A.-S. mast, from Goth, matan, to 
nourish (and allied to meat) : the 
fruit of the oak or beech, or other 
forest trees. 

mausoleum, Gr. Maiisolus, king of Caria, 
to whom his widow erected a 
stately monument : a magnificent 
tomb. 

maze, A.-S. mase, a whirlpool : a lab- 
yrinth, an intricate net-work of 
paths. 

mazy, maze-like. 

meagre, A.-S. mdger, Fr. maigre, Lat. 
macer, lean : lean, thin. 

medallion, Fr. medaillon, from L. Lat. 
medalla, a medal. 

meet, A..-?>. gemet, from metan, to meet, 
find, come together : fit, proper. 

melancholy, Gr. melas, black, and chole, 
gall, bile : a gloomy state of mind 
— a condition which at one time 
was supposed to result from a su- 
perabundance of bile. 

mercenai-j-, Lat. mercenarhis, from mer- 



ces, wages, reward : acting for re- 
ward. 

mercurial, Lat. mercurialis, having the 
qualities fabled to belong to Mer- 
cury : active, sprightly, change- 
able. 

mere, adj., A.-S. mcsre : unmixed, and 
hence entire, complete, absolute. 
In this sense it is generally used 
by Shakespeare, Bacon, and oth- 
er Elizabethan writers. Its mod- 
ern meaning is a secondary one : 
since mere originally signifies un- 
mixed, it has come by inference 
to mean nothing but, such and no 
more, bare. 

metliiuks, compound of 7ne (=to me), 
the indirect object, and thinks, 
seems, from the A.-S. verb thin- 
can, to seem. The subject of this 
so-called impersonal verb is the 
clause following. 

mew, v., through Fr. muer, from Lat. 
mutare, to change : to moult, as a 
bird its feathers : used by Mil- 
ton in the special sense of renew- 
ing by moulting. 

microscopic, resembling a microscope, 
and this from Gr. mikros, small, 
and skopein, to view. 

minister, n., Lat. minus, less, lit. a 
subordinate, a servant. 

minister, v., Lat. ministrare, to attend, 
to serve : to afford. 

minnow, Fr. menu, from Lat. minutus, 
small, minute : a very small fresh- 
water fish. 

mitre, Lat. and Gr. mitra, head-band, 
turban : a cover for the head, 
worn on solemn occasions by 
bishops, etc. 

moiety, Fr. moitie, Lat. medietas, from 
wt'a'zwj, middle, half: one of two 
equal parts. 

moil, A.-S. mdl, spot, lit. the defile- 
ment caused by severe labor : 
drudgery. 



632 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



mortal, Lat. mortalis, from viors, mor- 
tis, death : pertaining to one's 
death. 

mosaic, n., Gr. moiiseios, belonging to 
the Muses : inlaid work. 

moiight, obsolete past tense of magan, 
to be able : might. 

mural, Lat. mums, a wall : pertaining 
to a wall. 

muse, «., connected with Lat. miisa, 
Gr. monsa, from maein, to seek 
out: lit., in the state of deep 
thought required by study or the 
pursuit of the Muses. 

music, «., Gr. moiisa, a muse, mousike 
— (supply techne, art) — lit. the 
Muses' art, any art over which 
the Muses presided : and then 
narrowed down to mean that par- 
ticular science that relates to har- 
monical sounds. 

myriad, Gr. murios, numberless (pi. 
mtirioi=te.n thousand): an im- 
mense number. 

napkin, dim. of Fr. nappe, a table-cloth 
or cloth, from Lat. mappa, nap- 
kin : a handkerchief In this 
sense used by Shakespeare, but 
now obsolete. 

Nazarene, from N'azareth : a term of 
contempt applied by Mohamme- 
dans to Christians. 

nectareous, Gr. nektar, the drink of the 
gods : delicious. 

Nemesis, Gr. Nemesis, a Greek goddess 
personifying moral reverence for 
law. 

nidus, Lat. nidus, a nest : a repository 
for the eggs of birds, insects, and 
the like ; a nest. 

nightingale, A.-S. 7iihtegale, from niht, 
night, and galan, to sing : a small 
bird that sings at night. 

nod, v., allied to Lat. ntitare, to nod 
the head ; mimen, a nod, and fig- 
uratively the divine will as indi- 



cated by a nod. In this sense it 
is used by Dryden. 
noise, n., Fr. noise, strife, noise. A set 
or company, as of musicians, and 
by Milton, as of birds ; a use now 
obsolete. 

obscene, Lat. obsceniis, foul, filthy : foul, 
filthy. 

obscure, Lat. obscurus. See lex. 

obsequies, pk, Lat. obsequia (ob and se- 
quor, to follow) : acts of deference 
or devotion. In this literal sense 
it is used by Milton. 

odorous, Lat. odor, odor, smell : having 
a sweet odor, fragrant. 

offence, Lat. offensa, from offendere, to 
thrust, dash against : used by 
Shakespeare in the sense of the 
state of being offended. 

opinion, Lat. opijiio, from opinari, to 
think : that which is opined, be- 
lief 

Opinion is a belief founded on a low 
degree of moral evidence — a belief 
stronger than hnpression, less than 
positive knowledge. 

optic, «., Gr. optikos, relating to vision : 
an organ of sight, an eye. In this 
sense generally used in the plural. 

oracle, Lat. oraculum, from orare, to 
speak : the revelations delivered 
by God to prophets. 

orchard, A.-S. ortgeard, an herb-yard: 
an enclosure of fruit-trees. 

overmatch, lit. more than a match : a 
superior. 

oxygen, Gr. oxus, sharp, acid, and ge- 
7iein, to generate ; so called be- 
cause originally supposed to be 
an essential part of every acid : 
one of the gaseous elements. 

pad, A.-S. pad, padh (connected with 
path) : an easy-paced horse. 

pale, Fr. pal, Lat. pahis, a stake : an 
enclosure. 



GLOSSARY. 



pall, A.-S. pall, Lat. palHimi, a cloak 
or cover : a large black cloth 
thrown over a coffin at a funeral. 

palpable, Lat. palpabilis, from palpare, 
to stroke or touch softly : made 
manifest. 

panoply, Gr. panoplia, from pas, pan, 
all, and oplon, implement of war : 
a full suit of defensive armor. 

pansy, Fr. penser, to think ; heart's- 
ease. 

paradise, Gr. paradises, from Persian 
firdaus, a pleasure-garden. 

parson, Lat. persona (a person, that is, 
^the church) : a clergyman. 

partial, Lat. partialis, from pars, par- 
tis, a part : affecting a part only. 

passage, Yx. passage, L. \-,2X. passaginm, 
from passus, a step, lit. the act of 
passing : a pass or encounter. 

peasantry, Eng. peasant, Fr. paysan, 
from pays (= Lat. pagus), the 
country : the body of country 
people among European nations. 

pedant, contracted from it.pedagogante, 
from Lat. pcedagogare, to educate 
{Gx.pais, a boy). 

Pegasus, Gr. Pegasos : a winged horse 
of the Muses. 

pendent, l^^.t.pendere, to hang : a hang- 
ing ornament on roofs, ceilings, 
etc., much used in Gothic archi- 
tecture. 

perennial, Lat. perejtnialis, from per, 
throughout, and annus, the year : 
everlasting. 

perspicuity, Lat. perspiancs, from per- 
spicere, to look through [per and 
specere) : state of being perspicu- 
ous or clear. See Definitions, p. 

XX. 

pert, Lat. apertus, open, free : brisk, 
lively. This use of the word is 
obsolete : pert has degenerated 
to mean too free, and hence for- 
ward, saucy. 

petrifaction. See petrific. 



petriflc, Lat. and Gr. petra, a rock or 
stone : having the power to con- 
vert into stone, to petrify. 

petrify. See petrific. 

picturesque, Fr. pittoresque, from Lat. 
pictitra {pingere, to paint) : ex- 
pressing that peculiar kind of 
beauty which is agreeable in a 
picture, natural or artificial. 

piebald, for pie - balled, from pie, the 
parti-colored bird, and ball: di- 
versified in color. 

pied, adj., from Yr.pie, the parti-colored 
bird, the magpie : hence varie- 
gated in color. 

pigmy. Gr. pngme, the fist : a dwarf. 
(Spelled 2\%o pygmy.) 

pilgrim, Lat. peregrinus, a foreigner, 
from per, through, and agere, to 
go : a traveller. 

pinion, 'Lz.t. pinna, pe7t7ta, feather, wing : 
a wing. 

pinnacle, Lat. pinnaaihctn, from pitina, 
feather, pinnacle : a slender tur- 
ret or part of a building elevated 
above the main building. 

planet, Gr. planetes, wandering : a ce- 
lestial body which revolves around 
the sun in an orbit of a moderate 
degree of eccentricity. 

plight, n., A.-S. pliht, danger, obliga- 
tion. Used by Milton to signify 
state, condition, without any refer- 
ence to danger — its usual mod- 
ern meaning. 

poetry, Lat. poeta, from Gr. poietes, a 
poet, from poiein, to make, to 
create. See Definitions 4 and 10. 

polarity, Gr. polos, a pole (in physics, 
one of the opposite or contrasted 
parts or directions in which a po- 
lar force is manifested) : that qual- 
ity or condition of a body in vir- 
tue of which it exhibits opposite 
or contrasted properties, or pow- 
ers in opposite or contrasted parts 
or directions. 



634 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



polite, Lat. politiis, polished : elegant 
in manners. 

politics, sing., Gr. politike, belonging 
to the state {^xo'ca.polis, a city) : the 
science or art of public affairs. 

ponderous, Lat. ponderosiLs, from pon- 
dtis, ponderis, a weight : weighty. 
Ponderoics (= root ponder + suf- 
fix ons) is etymologically an exact 
synonym oizveighty (zveight-\-y). 

possess, Lat. possidere, possesstim, from 
po, an inseparable prefix having 
an intensifying force, and sidere, 
to sit, lit. to sit upon, and there- 
fore to occupy, to hold : used by 
Shakespeare as equivalent to ac- 
quaint, inform. (This verb is fol- 
lowed by of or with before the 
name of the thing possessed.) 

prescribe, Lat./r^, before, and scribere, 
to write : lit. to fore - write, and 
hence to lay down authoi'itatively. 
. presumptuous, \MX.p7'CESiimphtosiis {pr<z, 
before, and sicmere, to take) : full 
of presumption (presumption, lit. 
a taking in advance of warrant). 

principal, adj., Lat. principalis ( from 
princeps, principis, the first or 
chief — and this from primus, first, 
and capere, to take), first in rank, 
most considerable. 

privateness, l^^it. privaitis, private : pri- 
vacy. 

prodigious, Lat. prodigiiim, a prodigy : 
of the nature of a prodigy, and 
used by Milton in the special 
sense of portentous. 

profusion, the act of one who is pro- 
fuse, and this from Lat. pro, forth, 
and fundere, fitsu?n, to pour. 

proper, Fr. propre, Lat. propriiis, one's 
own : belonging to as one's own. 

propitiation, 'Ldit. propitiatio, an appeas- 
ing : the act of appeasing wrath. 

provoke, "L^it. provocare (pro, forth, and 
vocare, to call), to call forth : used 
by Gray in its etymological sense. 



proyning = pruning, from obsolete 
proyn, to prune. 

pursuivant, Fr. poursuivre, to pursue : 
properly, an attendant on the her- 
alds. 

quagmire, O. Eng. quag, to quake or 
shake, and 7Jiire : soft, wet land. 

quorum, Lat. gen. pi. of qui, and hence 
= of whom ( with reference to a 
body of persons of whom those 
who are assembled are legally 
sufiicient to the business of the 
whole. In England applied to 
the justice-court. 

quota, Lat. quotus, qicota, which or what 
in number : a proportional part. 

rankle, A.-S. 7-anc, proud, strong, rank : 
to be inflamed, to fester. 

rapture, Lat. rapere, raptum, to carry 
off by force : a seizing by vio- 
lence, and, figuratively, the state 
of being carried away from one's 
self by agreeable excitement, 
_ transport. 

rather, A. - S. properly the compar- 
ative degree of rathe {radhe), 
soon, quick, and hence lit. sooner; 
and thence transferred from con- 
nection in time to connection in 
-- choice. 

reasonable, through Fr. raisonuable, 
from Lat. rationabilis, and, ulti- 
mately, ratio, reason : accordant 
with reason. Milton uses it where 
we should use rational. We dis- 
criminate between reasonable and 
rational. Rational is having the 
faculty of reason ; reasonable is 
accordant with reason : so that 
one maybe ra^2'o««/ without being 
reasonable. 

recant, Lat. recantare, to recall, from 
re, again, and cantare, to sing or 
sound: used by Shakespeare in 
its etymological sense of recall. 



GLOSSARY. 



^Z^ 



reck, A.-S. recan, to care for : to make 
account of; to care for. 

remorse, Lat. remordere, remorsus, to 
bite back, to torment : used by 
Shakespeare in tlie rare sense of 
relenting, compassion. 

retiring, Fr. retiref; to draw back ; re- 
tirement. 

reverie. See revery. 

reTery,'Fr. reverie, from rever, to dream : 
a loose irregular train of thoughts 
or musings. 

ribaldry, L. Lat. ribaldus, a lewd fel- 
low : the talk of a ribald. 

rival, n., Lat. rivales, two neighbors 
having the same brook {riviis) in 
common : a competitor. 

rude, Lat. rudis, characterized by rough- 
ness : unpolished, barbarous. 

ruffian, G&r. ratifen, to scuffle, to fight : 
a boisterous, brutal fellow. 

sanctify, Lat. saiiciificare, to make {fa- 
cere) holy [sanctus) : to hallow. 

sanctuary, Lat. sanctiiarhwi, from sanc- 
tus, sacred : a sacred place. 

satellite, Lat. satelles, gen. satellitis, lit. 
a soldier who guarded the person 
of the prince ; hence an attend- 
ant : a secondary planet, or moon. 

satisfy, Lat. satisfacere, from satis, 
enough, and facere, to make : to 
free from doubt, suspense, or un- 
certainty. 

savage (O. Eng. salvage), Lat. silvaticzis, 
belonging to a wood (from silva, 
a wood) : lit. a forest man, and 
thence an uncivilized {civis, a city) 
man. 

sculptor, Lat. sculptor, from sctilpere, to 
carve : one who sculptures. 

second, v., Lat. seacndare (from secun- 
dus, the second, and this from se- 
qui, to follow, because it follows 
the first) : to support, to forward. 

secure, a^'., Lat. se {sine), without, and 
cura, care : used by Milton in its 



literal sense — not in its modern 

meaning oi safe. 
selali, Heb. selah, from salah, to repose, 

to be silent. 
selenography, Gr. selene, the moon, and 

graphein, to describe : a descrip- 
tion of the surface of the moon. 
seneschal, Fr. senechal, from L. Lat. 

seniscalcits, lit. an old servant : a 

steward. 
sensible, Lat. sensibilis, from senstis, 

sense : easily moved or affected. 
sensual, Lat. sensualis, from sensiis, 

sense : relating to the body in 

distinction from the mind. 
serene, Lat. serenus, calm, from sera, 

evening : fair, bright. 
shrive, A.-S. scrifan: to administer 

confession. 
sidelong, Y.wg. side and lojig : lateral, 

oblique. 
signory. It. segnoria, from Lat. senior, 

elder : the Florentine senate. 
simple, Lat. simplex { probably from 

sine, without, and plica, a fold) : 

plain. 
sirloin, Fr. siirlonge {sur, over, and 

longe, loin) : a loin of beef. 
smother, n., A.-S. sinorian, to suffo- 
cate : a state of suppression. 
sooth, A.-S. s6dh, truth : truth. 
sorteth (to sort), from the Fr. sortir, to 

go out : hence, results in, leads to. 

Obsolete in this signification. 
spectre, Lat. spectrum, an image, from 

specere, to see : an apparition. 
spell, A.-S. spellian, to relate : used by 

Milton in the sense of read or 

study out. 
spirit, I^at. spiratus, from spirare, to 

breathe : a disembodied soul. 
sprite, contracted from spirit (Lat. spi- 

ritus, breath, spirare, to breathe). 
spud, Dan. spyd, a spear : an imple- 

' ment for destroying weeds. 
starve, from A.-S. steorfan, to die. Its 

modern meaning, to famish, is a 



636 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



special application. Milton uses 
it as equivalent to freeze. 

statua, the original Latin form of 
statue, from stativa, standing (<?/- 
figies, image, understood ), from 
stare, to stand. 

statue, Lat. statua (which see). 

steal, A.-S., connected with still- to 
accomplish in a secret manner, as 
to "steal a sigh." 

still, A.-S. stille, quietly : used by Dry- 
den in the sense of always, ever. 

stond, a disinclination to proceed. 
This word, which is a form of 
stand, is obsolete. 

Stygian, relating to the Styx, fabled to 
be a river of hell : hence hateful, 
infernal. 

sublime, Lat. sublimis (probably from 
sublevere, to lift up) : exalted. 

sublimity. See sublime. 

subtile, Lat. subtilis, from sub, under 
(slightly), tela, a web : lit. woven 
fine, then thin, then keen. In this 
last sense used by Milton. Stibtle 
is a contracted form of the same 
word, but has taken the meaning 
of sly, artful. 

subtle. See subtile. 

subtlety. See subtile. 

subtly, in a subtle manner. See sub- 
tile. 

sugh == souglij A.-S. siofian, to groan, to 
sigh : a hollow murmur or roar- 
ing. 

Sunday, A.-S. sunna, the sun, and dag, 
day: the first day of the week, 
the Christian Sabbath. It was so 
called because this day was an- 
ciently dedicated to the sun or its 
worship. 

surge, Lat. surgere, to rise : a large 
wave or billow. 

surgeon, contracted from Yx.chirurgien, 
from Gr. cheirourgos ( cheir, the 
hand, and ergein, to work), orig- 
inally one whose profession is to 



heal diseases by manual opera- 
tions, instruments, or applica- 
tions. 

surplice, Fr. surplis, from L. Lat. super- 
pellicium {super, over, and pellici- 
uin, a fur robe, a pelisse) : a white 
overgarment worn by the clergy 
and other officials in the Latin 
Catholic church. 

sui-plus, Lat. super, over, and plus, 
more : overmuch, excess. 

surplusage. See surplus. 

swound : a swoon. Rare. 

systole, Gr. sustole, from sun, with, and 
stellein, to set : the contraction of 
the heart and arteries. 

tale, A.-S. telian or tellan, to tell : a 
reckoning by count, an enumera- 
tion. 

talents, Lat. talentum, Gr. talanton, 
anything weighed ; a talent (de- 
nomination of money ) : mental 
endowments or capacity ; a meta- 
phorical use of the word probably 
originating in the Scripture para- 
ble of the talents. 

tapestry, Fr. tapisserie, from tapis, a 
carpet : a kind of woven hang- 
ings of wool and silk. 

temper, v., Fr. tetnperer, Lat. temperare, 
from Lat. tempus, time ; lit. to 
adapt a thing to the time or oc- 
casion : to qualify, to soften. 

temperate, Lat. temperatus ( tempus, 
time), mingled in due proportion : 
moderate, not excessive. 

tenement, Lat. tenementimi, from tenere, 
to hold : a house or lands de- 
pending on a manor, or noble- 
man's estate. 

tenet, Lat. tettet, he holds (3d per. sing, 
of tenere, to hold) : a doctrine, a 
dogma. 

tessellate, Lat. tessellare, from tessella, 
a small square piece : to form in 
little squares. 



GLOSS A J? V. 



637 



testament, Lat. testamentimi, from testis, 
a witness : an instrument in writ- 
ing by which a person declares 
his will as to the disposal of his 
estate and effects after his death. 

tinge, Lat. tingere, to wet, moisten : to 
imbue or affect one thing with the 
qualities of another ; to color. 

touniey, Fr. to7irnoir, from toiirner, to 
turn : a tournament. 

train, Fr. train, from Fr. trainee', Lat. 
trakere, to draw : used by Gold- 
smith to denote the collection of 
villagers drawn along together to 
sport. 

tripod, Gr. tripoiis, gen. tripodos, from 
ti'i or tris, three, and pons, podos, 
a foot : the stool with three feet 
on which the priest in the tem- 
ple of Apollo sat while giving re- 
sponses. 

tropliy, Gr. tropaion, a monument of an 
enemy's defeat (from trope, a turn- 
ing about or routing) : a pile of 
arms, taken from a vanquished 
enemy, raised on the field of bat- 
tle by the conquerors ; or the 
representation of such a pile in 
marble and the like. In this lat- 
ter sense used by Addison. 

truce, O. Eng. trewis or trezvse, from O. 
Ger. triwa, faith, compact : a sus- 
pension of arms by mutual agree- 
ment. 

twiliglit, A.-S. tTui, tuo, and Eng. light, 
lit. doubtful light : the faint light 
perceived before the rising and 
after the setting of the sun. 

typhus, L. Lat. typhics, from Gr. tiiphos, 
smoke, stupor arising from fever : 
a type of fever. 

ubiquitous, Lat. ubiqtte, everywhere : 
existing everywhere. 

uncouth, from A.-S. iin, not, and cndh, 
known, from ciinnan, to know : 
hence unknown, and in this lit- 



eral sense it is used by Milton. 
This signification is now obso- 
lete. Its modern signification 
of odd, rude, is exemplified in 
Gray. 

undulation, Lat. Jtndtda, a little wave, 
from unda, a wave : a waving mo- 
tion or vibration. 

unravel, Eng. un and ravel. The ttn 
is superfluous, as ravel means to 
take apart, to untwist. Thus — 
" Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave 
of care." — Shakespeare. 

unreproved, lit. not reproved, which is 
its modern meaning ; but in Mil- 
ton it signifies that cannot be re- 
proved : irreproachable, blame- 
less. 

Utopia, Gr. on, not, and topos, a place : 
an imaginary island spoken of in a 
work called Utopia by Sir Thomas 
More. 

Tault, Fr. voute, from Lat. volvere, volu- 
tum, to roll : an arched apartment. 

rerger, Fr. verger, from verge, a rod : 
the beadle of a cathedral church. 

vernal, Lat. vernalis, from ver, spring : 
belonging to spring. 

verse, Lat. versus, a furrow, and in po- 
etry a line, or verse ; from vertere, 
versum, to turn. See Def. 4. 

vicarious, Lat. vicarins, from vicis, 
change : acting or suffering for 
another. 

victuals, Fr. victuailles, from Lat. vic- 
tns, nourishment, from vivere, vic- 
tuni, to live : food for human be- 
ings, prepared for eating. Now 
used only in the plural. 

vignette, Fr. vignette, from vigne, a vine, 
originally applied to ornaments 
consisting of leaves and tendrils : 
an engraving not enclosed within 
a definite border. 

vindicate, Lat. vindicare, to maintain 
or assert (probably from ventivi 



638 



MASTERPIECES OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. 



and dicere, to pronounce sale) : to 
justify, to assert with success. 

Tirtue, Lat. virttts, strength, excellence, 
from vir, a man : natural or moral 
excellence. 

Tista, It. vista, sight, view, from Lat. 
videre, to see : a view, especially 
a distant view, through or be- 
tween intervening objects. 

volubility, Lat. vohibilis, rolling easily, 
from volvere, to roll : fluency of 
speech. 

Toluble. See volubility. 

TuJgar, Lat. vulgus, the common peo- 
ple : used by Emerson in the 
sense of popular. 

wax, A.-S. weaxan, to increase: to in- 
crease, as opposed to wane. 

weal, A.-S. wela, wealth : well - being, 
prosperity. 

weeds, A.-S. waed, a garment. The 
word was in the 17th century not 
confined to a widow's dress. 

ween, A.-S. wenan, to hope, to think : 
to deem, to believe. 

widow, A.-S. widiiwe (connected with 
Lat. viduits, bereft of a husband) 
and Sanscrit vidhavd ( from vi, 
without, and dhava, a husband) : 
a woman who has lost her hus- 
band by death. 

wight, A.-S. wiht, a creature: a per- 
son. The word is used chiefly in 
burlesque. 

wit, A.-S. wit, knowledge. This word 
in the older Eng. literature is used 
in various senses widely differ- 
ent from its modern signification. 
Thus, in Shakespeare, (i) intellect- 



ual power, (2) sharpness, ingenuity ; 

in Milton, intellect ; in Butler, 

subtlety ; in Dryden, skill. 
wits: used by Dryden in the sense of 

intellectual faculties. 
witlial, A.-S. with and all : with. 
wizard, A.-S. wis, wise, and ard, man : 

a conjurer. 
wold, A.-S. iy— weald and wald, a wood, 

a forest) : a wood or forest ; a 

plain or open country. 
wrest, A.-S. wrcEstan, to twist : to turn 

forcibly. 
writ, v., obsolete form of the past 

tense of to write. Wj'it is nearer 

the A.-S. form than our modern 

wrote. The A.-S. past was luriit, 

pi. writon, of which latter writ 

was a contracted form. 

ycleped (i-klept), called, named: p. p. 
of A.-S. geclipian, to call ; obso- 
lete except in burlesque writing. 

yore, A.-S. geo, formerly, and tzr, ere, 
before. 

younker, A.-S. geongra, a pupil, from 
geong, young : a young fellow. 

yule, A.-S. ^^^/.' Christmas; applied 
also sometimes to the feast of 
Lammas. The " yule - log " or 
"yule-block" was a large block 
of wood formerly put on the hearth 
on Christmas eve, as the founda- 
tion of the fire. 

zephyr, Lat. zephyrits, Gr. zephuros 
(from zophos, darkness, the dark 
side, west) : the west wind, and, 
poetically, any soft, mild, gentle 
breeze. 



THE END. 



ROLFE'S ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

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Shakespeare's Comedy of The Tempest. 

Shakespeare's Histoi-y of King Heni-y tlie Eig-hth. 

Sliakespeare's Tragedy of Julius Caesar. 

Shakespeare's Tragedy of King Richard the Second. 

Shakespeare's Tragedy of Macbetli. 

Shakespeare's Comedy of A Midsummer-Night's Dream. 

Shakespeare's History of King Henry the Fifth. 

Shakespeare's Comedy of As You Like It. 

Shakespeare's Tragedy of Hamlet. 

Shakespeare's Comedy of Much Ado About Nothing. 

Shakespeare's Comedy of The Winter's Tale. 

Shakespeare's Comedy of Twelfth Night. 

Shakespeare's History of King John. 

Shakespeare's Tragedy of Eomeo and Juliet. 

Shakespeare's Tragedy of Othello. 

Shakespeare's History of King Henry the Fourth. Part I. 

Shakespeare's History of King Henry the Fourth. Part II. 

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The Principles of Rhetoric, and their Application. By 
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The general analysis is strong and logical, and the illustrations from the 
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I am impressed with its clear, practical, and scholarly presentation of the 
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I consider it the freshest, most attractive, and most judicious treatment of 
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